


Heat of the Chase

by argentoswan



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Almost Heroic Rescues, And a whole lot of arguing, Angst, Auror Investigation, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mutual Pining, Mystery, Newt Makes Everyone Worry, Reluctant Friendship, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-08
Updated: 2017-06-20
Packaged: 2018-09-15 15:32:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 67,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9241811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/argentoswan/pseuds/argentoswan
Summary: Newt returns to New York to visit, but when he is drawn into Tina and Mr. Graves' new investigation, he finds himself immersed in a case that challenges his knowledge of magical creatures-- and what he thought he knew about Mr. Graves, the lead investigator who doesn't want the consulting magizoologist anywhere near his job."It seems there’s not a species in the world that doesn’t love you, Mr. Scamander.”





	1. Chapter 1

_Donec_

**Newt**

Newt had prepared himself for being in the city again. Towards the end of his journey he had even daydreamed about it, spending long afternoons on the deck of the boat staring out at the horizon and picturing soaring buildings and stable ground. Now that he had reentered the urban world, however, he remembered just how intimidating New York could be.

The air was just as stifling and perhaps even more polluted than before, and Newt wondered if a dozen more skyscrapers had been built in the short year he had been gone. He followed the buildings up with his eyes as he walked, high up to where they seemed to scrape the clouds, and readjusted his grip on his suitcase. It was wrapped in twine and secured with magic to prevent any mishaps, but the city was already bringing back bad memories.

He turned down the street, glanced down at the hastily scrawled address in his hand, then pocketed it. He could have apparated but he always preferred to walk when he could. One never knew when it would come in handy to know the surroundings, after all, and after what had happened last time, he didn’t want to  be caught off guard in a strange city again.

He strode up the sidewalk, drawing his blue coat tighter around himself, and mounted the steps. At the top, he stopped, recalling the rule the landlady had about male visitors. He hesitated with his hand on the door knocker before pulling his wand out and murmuring a soft _Alohomora_ instead.

The first floor was empty, but the stairs creaked alarmingly underneath his feet. He winced and crept to the top, clutching his case to his chest.

A movement in his pocket startled him, and he looked down to see Pickett poking his head out, sleep dazed and curious. He smiled at the bowtruckle as he stepped up to the door. “Ready?” he asked. Pickett made a small sound and ducked back down again. Newt wasn’t sure if he was agreeing with him or mocking him. He sighed, curled his fingers around the handle of his case, and knocked.

The door burst open.

“Newt!” He processed pink and gold and the sweet scent of flowers before he was seized in a hug. He tried to return it the best he could, burdened as he was by his luggage.

“Hi, Queenie,” he said, voice muffled by her hair.

“Let me look at you.” She drew back and beamed, eyes shining. She was just as beautiful as when Newt had met her-- her hair perhaps a little longer, her lips a paler shade of pink, but still unmistakably Queenie.

"Oh, you’re the absolute sweetest,” Queenie said, tugging at the collars of his coat. “Have you been tanning?”

“Newt?”

Queenie stepped aside and Newt got a clear view into the apartment. Tina had grown her hair out as well, the edges of her bob curling around her jaw. She tucked her arms behind her back and smiled, silky fabric of her jacket rippling. “Hello, stranger.”

“Hi, Tina.” He ducked his head shyly, and then Tina came forward and drew him into a hug as well, slower and briefer than Queenie’s.

“I missed you,” she said as she released him.

“I missed you, too.”

“Newt!” Jacob strode forward, dressed casually with his shirt half untucked and a glowing grin plastered onto his face.

“Jacob.” Newt laughed. “How are you?”

“Just fine.” Jacob took his hand and shook it warmly. “Golly, did you get even taller?  I feel like a child standing next to you.”

“You can borrow my heels if you want, sweetie.” Queenie had already moved into the kitchen again, waving her wand to send finished dishes flying to the table. The warm scent of garlic and tingling magic permeated the room, and Newt nudged the front door closed with his foot before the neighbors took a peek inside.

“That’s alright,” Jacob said, “my ego has suffered worse than a height difference.”

“How are the memories, Jacob?” Newt asked, earnest and a trifle curious. It had been a surprise to Newt when, months after he had left New York, a letter from Jacob had arrived, short and startlingly formal for such a warm man. As correspondence continued the letters had lengthened and become more personal. Jacob had started to reclaim his memories the moment he had seen Queenie in his store-- and perhaps before, if what Tina had told him about Jacob’s astounding subconscious memories of his creatures was true-- but shaking off the venom had been a slow process.

“Patchy,” Jacob said, “but there. Still get a little mixed up sometimes, but I remember the things that count.” His eyes strayed toward Queenie.

“Dinner’s ready!” she chirped, flicking her wand to send the mashed potatoes to the table. “Newt, you can go set your case down in mine and Tina’s room, they’ll be safe there. You must be starving after that trip.”

    XXXXX

“Your book, Newt,” Queenie said. She leaned forward in excitement, her necklace almost catching in the pot roast. “Congratulations!”

“Oh, thank you,” Newt said, awkward and hesitant. He was still getting used to the wash of praise that came with successful publication. He had nearly vomited during his first interview for the Daily Prophet. “I have copies for you all.”

“We’ve already got one.” Tina smiled behind her water glass. “We couldn’t wait. I’ve already read it twice.”

“Oh.” Newt felt heat rising in his cheeks. He toyed with his fork. “Did you… I mean…”

“We loved it!” Queenie cried. “You’re an absolute genius, Newt. The entire ministry has been raving about it. I even saw Picquery with a copy the other day.”

“I especially liked the chapter on those horse things,” Jacob said through a mouthful of steamed broccoli. “Is it true you can only see them if you’ve seen death?”

“Thestrals,” Newt said, “yes, you can only see them if you’ve witnessed and accepted the reality of death. I have one in my case right now, actually. It’s only a few months old; it hurt its ankle trying to cross a river, and I’m afraid it got separated from its mother. Hogwarts has a flock in their forest, though, so I’ve arranged with Professor Dumbledore to have it delivered there when it’s healed. We can visit it later, if you’d like.”

“Jacob’s been rambling about your case for the weeks.” Queenie sighed, a fond noise, when Jacob perked up at Newt’s offer.

“I like the case, sue me,” he said with a shrug.

Newt smiled, unable to believe that Jacob was really back. Newt had so few friends as it was, and he would never forget the heart-stopping pain of meeting his eyes in the street and seeing no recognition there. He had never expected that Jacob would recover from the venom, but he had always reacted strangely to magical creatures.

“Has Picquery said anything about Jacob?” Newt asked.

“Not since I started working for her,” Queenie said, chin raised in pride. She winked at Newt. “I’m a consultant.”

“Best lie detector in America,” Tina said with a small smile.

“What?” Newt asked.

“They call me into court when they need to check if someone’s lying,” Queenie said. “I’ve been on a few high profile cases already. And that, coupled with all the wonderful help I provided last year and Tina’s reinstatement as an Auror… well, they’re turning a blind eye to Jacob.”

“Thank god for oversight,” Jacob said, raising his glass of water to the ceiling in a toast.

“That’s wonderful,” Newt said, beaming. “And Jacob, your store…?”

“Flourishing!” The mere mention of his pride and joy brought a new light into Jacob’s face. “We’re so busy I’ve had to hire even more staff. It’s everything I ever dreamed of.”

“I’m happy for you,” Newt said. Jacob comfortable in his own skin, but Newt could see the newfound confidence in the way he held himself now, shoulders thrown back in ease.

“I have you to thank,” Jacob said. “For the collateral, that is. I never got to properly thank you for what you did.”

“Anything for a friend,” Newt said, warmth blooming in his chest.

XXXXX

“Is it nice to be an Auror again, Tina?” Newt asked. It was after dinner now, and the feast on the table had been replaced by a tray heaped with pastries courtesy of Kowalski’s bakery. Newt had been delighted to pluck out a sugar encrusted doughnut shaped like a niffler, complete with beady raisin eyes. Tina was intently tearing apart a croissant, while Queenie and Jacob seemed more occupied with each other than the pastries. They leaned in close and giggled occasionally over nothing in particular. Newt thought it was sweet.

“Wonderful,” Tina said with a broad smile. “I’ve actually had a promotion, of sorts. Mr. Graves has started taking me on for more important cases. The real Mr. Graves, that is. He wasn’t very happy when I told him that Grindelwald had played a hand in my demotion. I think he feels a little bad, to be quite honest.”

“How is Graves?” Newt asked curiously. Newt had only seen him once, at his rescue only hours after the subway incident. Grindelwald had been holding him in a nearby apartment to keep as a steady supply of DNA for his polyjuice potion. The poor man had been so dehydrated and malnourished Newt hadn’t been able to say a word to him before he was whisked away to the healers.

“Much better,” Tina said. “He sulked for the first five months, though, kept muttering that no one had even noticed he had been replaced by Grindelwald. But he seems to be, uh… lightening up?”

“You don’t sound sure about that,” Jacob chuckled.

“Oh, he doesn’t say much,” Tina said, pulling a part off of her croissant taking a bite. “He doesn’t really talk. But he’s good at his job and he gets it done, and that’s all we can ask of him at the end of the day. He hardly socialized before he was kidnapped, anyways, so it’s not a change.”

“The strong and silent type, huh?” Queenie wiggled her eyebrows. After a moment she laughed, mind catching at a stray thought. “Oh, don’t worry, honey, I’ve got eyes for only you.” She grabbed Jacob’s hand in both her own and smiled at him.

“That’s too bad,” Newt said. He was still holding his untouched doughnut. Every time he thought about eating it he felt bad. Those raisin eyes really were quite realistic. “I mean, that he’s so…”

“Brusque?” Tina offered.

“I suppose.”

“Some people are just like that,” Queenie said. She reached out and picked up a cookie drizzled with chocolate. “Newt, I have the most marvelous vacation planned for you. You’ve been working on that book for years now-- working so hard, in fact, that most of our letters went unanswered.” Her gaze carried a threat and Newt stared determinedly at his niffler. “This month you are going to relax and enjoy yourself.”

“I always enjoy myself,” Newt said.

“Insightful,” Queenie said drily. “Now, I’ve made plans for us to go to the zoo next week, I know you’ll have fun there, and visiting Jacob’s store, of course, and I’ve charted out some of the most interesting magical historical landmarks--”

“He only just got here, Queenie,” Tina laughed.

“I’m just telling him the plan!” Queenie grinned at her sister. “And you’re coming, too, I don’t care how time-consuming your new case is. Newt hasn’t been here for a year, and knowing him it’ll be another _five_ before he comes back to visit us again.”

“Case?” Newt asked, looking up.

“Of course _that_ catches your interest.” Queenie rolled her eyes and leaned into Jacob’s side, breaking her cookie in half.

“There’s been a string of disappearances in the past few weeks,” Tina said. She curled a strand of hair around her finger, slipping into her thoughts. “Both magical and No-Maj. I’ve been investigating with Graves. It’s quite high-profile.”

“Disappearances,” Newt murmured with a frown.

“No!” Queenie sat up again. “No, Tina, I said not to mention it. Newt will get interested, and then he’ll do something to get involved, and suddenly we’ll all be wanted criminals when we could be visiting the zoo instead!”

“She’s very excited about the zoo,” Jacob explained to Newt.

“You are on vacation.” Queenie shoved a finger in Newt’s face, red nail polish flashing in the lamplight. “And you are going to _act_ like it and _enjoy_ yourself. Do I make myself clear?”

Newt swallowed, intimidated by the flash of intensity in Queenie’s gaze. “Yes,” he squeaked.

She glared at him a moment longer, then smiled and melted back into Jacob. “Good,” she said, plucking another cookie off the plate. “Jacob, darling, these are _wonderful_. Your grandmother’s recipe?”

“Of course,” Jacob said, tilting his head to smile down at her.

Newt met Tina’s gaze, startled. She just shrugged and ripped the last of her croissant in two.

XXXXX

“Do you need a cot, Newt?” Tina straightened the pots and pans in the kitchen with a wave of her wand.

“No.” Newt clutched his cup of tea. Queenie had prepared it for him after laughing about how the English couldn’t go more than an hour without a cup. Newt had borne the teasing with a smile because, well, she was right, and he had really been craving a warm drink. “I’ve got a hammock in my case, and I need to keep an eye on the occamies, anyways. One of them has caught a cold and I’m afraid he’s passed it on to his siblings.”

“Mummy has to stay close by, huh?” Tina’s eyes shone with amusement.

Newt ducked his head. “Well,” he said into his tea, “they haven’t got anyone else.”

He knew Tina was looking at him but he kept his attention on his tea. After a moment he heard movement, the clinking of ceramic as Tina stacked washed and dried plates back into the cupboard.

“Did you get into any more trouble this year?” she asked. “Without me there to watch you, I mean.”

“Contrary to popular belief, my life isn’t that exciting.”

“I don’t believe a word of it,” Tina said. She pocketed her wand and came to sit down on the sofa with him, sighing in relief as she raised her stockinged feet and stretched. “You attract trouble wherever you go, Scamander.”

Newt just shrugged, uncertain of what to say, and glanced at the front door. Jacob and Queenie had stepped out to say goodbye for the night, but it was going on five minutes and there was no sign of them.

“They think they’re very discreet,” Tina had said when the two had slipped out, giggling and clutching at each other’s arms.

Newt raised his tea to his lips but didn’t drink. It was still too hot.

“These disappearances,” he said, because he couldn’t think of another conversation topic and something about it was nagging at him. He couldn’t place what exactly it was.

“Oh, Newt.”

“I’m just curious.”

“It’s not a creature, if that’s what you’re wondering,” Tina said. “The disappearances are too clean, too sterile. We would know if it wasn’t human.”

“You’d be surprised,” Newt murmured, trying another sip of his tea and wincing when it burned his tongue.

“We only have creature problems when _you’re_ around,” Tina said, tipping her head over the back of the couch, exposing the pale curve of her neck. Newt turned away again. “Don’t act like New York is constantly overrun with-- with nifflers, or swooping evils, or whatever it is you have in your case.”

Newt held his unoccupied hand up in surrender. “I know, I know,” he said, but he couldn’t help but add, “You exterminate them too often for that to happen.”

“We are not doing this on your first night,” Tina said, raising her eyes to look at him. Newt turned away.

“I know,” Newt said.

They fell quiet, Newt warming his hands on his mug, Tina staring at the coffee table, a frown on her face.

“There’s a magical residue left at each site of disappearance,” she spoke suddenly. She couldn’t help but think out loud sometimes.“We sent experts out this morning to take a look to see if they can determine what spell was used. I haven’t heard back yet.”

“Hm,” Newt said, taking another careful drink. “And you’re in charge of this case?”

“Well… no, not exactly,” Tina said. “No one’s officially in charge yet. We’re waiting for Picquery to assign it. But I’ve been sent to all of the sites to take a look along with Graves. There’s no doubt that he’ll be the lead investigator, Picquery has thrown every high-profile case in the past year at him. I think she still feels bad that it took so long to find him. But he’ll need a partner.”

“I’m sure you’ll be chosen,” Newt said.

“Hopefully.” Tina sighed and settled back further against the cushions. “It took a while to get the President’s trust again, but like I said, Graves has been a big help. He’s invited me on several of his cases, and even if I’m just the consultant, it helps build up my credentials again.”

“You deserve it,” Newt said.

Tina smiled. “Thank you, Newt.” She nudged him with her foot. “How are you? I mean, really. Personally, I guess. Anyone special we should know about?”

“No,” Newt said. He pulled a face even as he felt heat flooding his cheeks. “Merlin, no. I haven’t had the time, haven’t had… the presence of mind, haven’t…”

“Alright,” Tina laughed, “I understand. Perhaps now that your book is published, though…”

“We’ll see,” Newt said, unable to meet her eye. Talk of romance had always made him uncomfortable, even back at Hogwarts when that was _all_ anyone talked about. He had much preferred to sneak into the forest and try to spot the centaurs then sit around with his dorm-mates discussing which girl they would like to take and where. Just the thought made his nose wrinkle in distaste.

The front door clicked open again and the room filled with Queenie’s laughter. It bounced off the walls like bubbles of joy, infectious and bright. Well, maybe there was one kind of love Newt was interested in. “I’ll see you tomorrow, honey,” she called into the hall, “buh-bye!”

“You really should be quieter,” Tina admonished as Queenie swung the door shut with a dreamy sigh. “She’ll hear you.”

“Oh, the old lady doesn’t really care.” Queenie waved her sister off and beamed at them. “My, you two look cozy. Ready to call it a night?”

“I should,” Tina said, getting to her feet. “I’ve got to be into the office early tomorrow.”

“And _we_ have plans,” Queenie said, coming forward to take Newt by the hand and pull him to his feet. He steadied his mug so the hot drink didn’t slosh over the side. “I have the most delicious breakfast place picked out, and then we can go to Jacob’s bakery for a visit.”

“That sounds lovely,” Newt said. A rush of emotions filled him, and he blinked them back. “Thank you.”

“Of course,” Queenie said, and squeezed his hand once. By her suddenly soft smile, Newt knew she understood just what he was feeling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think with a comment xxx


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “He’s not an Auror, Graves,” Tina snapped. “Can’t you see he’s uncomfortable?”
> 
> Mr. Graves snorted. “This is a murder investigation,” he said, still not looking at them. “If he hasn’t the stomach for it, he can leave.”

_Occurentes_

**Newt**

“It just doesn’t make sense.” Tina huffed and tugged on the brim of her hat. The wind was blowing hard, and Newt was sure it was only magic keeping it glued onto her head. “We know that it’s magic, and it’s recent enough that we should be able to tell what spell it is, but our experts haven’t gotten _anything_ from it. It's done us absolutely _no good_.”

“You at least know it’s not a No-Maj doing it,” Newt offered, trying to offer some kind of solace. It hadn’t taken much prompting to get Tina to vent about the case-- as soon as they had stepped out of earshot of Queenie, that is.

“And a fat lot of good that does us,” Tina said. “If it was a No-Maj we could just pass it off to them and that would be that, but no, we’re on the hunt for a magical serial killer who doesn’t leave a trace. Or not a trace that we can follow, that is.”

Newt frowned. They were strolling through the streets as the late August sun sank behind the skyscrapers, casting odd shadows over the rest of the city. Newt had been in New York three days already, but he didn’t think he’d ever get used to being so surrounded by buildings at all times. He had yet to see a tree today, except for in his case, and really, when nature was more plentiful in a suitcase than a city, there was a problem. “Serial killer? I thought you said they were just disappearances?”

“They are.” Tina sighed. “I’m getting ahead of myself. It’s just… the first disappearance was a witch about three weeks ago, and there hasn’t been a single sign of her since. What are the chances that she’s still alive?”

Newt looked out at the street. An automobile blasted by, beeping loudly to disperse a group of children jumping in the dirty puddles. They scattered with shouts of laughter. It had rained last night, and the entire city seemed to sparkle with dew. It made it look almost beautiful, excepting the lack of green.

“I don’t know,” he said.

Tina glanced at him. “Oh, bugger,” she said. Her hair whipped around her face in the brisk wind, and Newt’s own was getting into his eyes. “Queenie told me not to talk work to you. Now you’re going to start getting all curious.”

“Queenie is overprotective.”

“Queenie wants you to have a holiday,” Tina corrected, “and so do I. You worked so hard on that book. You didn’t even have time to write us.”

“I’m sorry,” he murmured.

“Oh, it’s alright,” Tina said. “Just don’t go missing on us again, alright? Even if you’re in Majorca, or Italy, or wherever you are. It’s worrying.”

“I don’t think I’ll be doing too much traveling over the next year,” Newt said. “The sales of my book are going well, and my family has been pressing me to take some time off and go home for a bit. I’ll probably head back to London for a visit when I’m finished here.”

“You’re welcome to stay here as long as you want,” Tina said, “you know that.”

“As long as I’m not an intrusion.”

Tina snorted, sounding remarkably like a mooncalf. “You, an intrusion? You’re the best house guest we could ask for. You’re in your case most of the time, anyways.”

Newt smiled a little. “Thank you, Tina.”

Tina looked about to respond and then gasped, soft and startled. “Oh,” she said, putting a hand in her pocket. Newt frowned in concern as she grabbed his elbow, grip firm, and turned them down a small alley. When they were hidden she slipped her wand out of the inside pocket of her coat. The tip was lit up with a bright white light, steady and unblinking, emitting a low hum that only grew louder the longer they watched it. The light cast shadows on Tina’s face and illuminated her puzzled frown. “Someone at MACUSA wants me. There must be something wrong. Do you mind…?”

“I’ll go with you,” Newt said. When Tina raised her eyebrows, he tried for an innocent smile. She rolled her eyes.

“Don’t tell Queenie,” she said, grabbing his arm again, and with a twist of her feet they disappeared.

They were spit back out on a side street near the Woolworth Building. Tina tucked her wand firmly into her coat and ducked her head into the wind as they headed out onto the sidewalk. Newt trailed after her up the steps to the doorman, who was covered from head to toe for warmth despite the time of year. He glanced at them, nodded, then pulled the side door open for them.

Stepping into MACUSA again was at once comfortingly familiar and alarming. As Newt’s gaze wandered to the clock-like danger detection device, the intricate iron hand currently fixed on “Level 2, Moderate Threat,” he was filled with the same wonder that had seized him the first time that Tina had dragged him here to be arrested. Now he trailed after her, shoes slapping against the polished linoleum of the steps, grateful that his presence here was much more innocent this time. It was easier to appreciate the sights when he wasn't worrying about the imminent destruction of his creatures.

“Ms. Goldstein!” A young girl with a thick Spanish accent approached Tina on the small bridge connecting the entryway to the rest of the facility. She was very young for a MACUSA employee, with long black hair that trailed to her waist in ringlets and sharp dark eyes. “Mr. Graves asked me to summon you,” she said, all business. “There’s been some sort of disturbance.”

“What is it, Sofia?” Tina asked.

“Mr. Scamander.”

Newt turned to see President Picquery striding towards them, her face twisted in disbelief and suspicion. Her turban, a deep shade of purple, matched her professional suit, cinched at the waist and flowing down to her knees. Two curls of blond hair stuck out from underneath the headwear, plastered to her dark skin in a neat swirl. She was impeccably regal, carrying with her a presence that caught attention without trying.

“Madam President,” Newt said, dropping into a quick bow, suddenly aware of every one of his gangly limbs. To be perfectly honest, he hadn’t expected to see Picquery again-- had, in fact, been hoping for it, especially when she was glaring at him like he had just summoned the devil into her office. He stood and dropped his eyes and hunched his shoulders in further, trying to make himself as small as possible to avoid further attention.

It was no use.

“Why is it,” Picquery said, stopping in front of him and crossing her arms, “that you seem to arrive just when trouble here seems to be at its peak?”

“Bad luck?” Newt offered. He glanced past her and his eyes caught a familiar face: Mr. Graves, expression as severe as the fake’s had been, dressed in a smart business suit, oblivious to the exchange. He was murmuring something to a young man, probably an intern judging from his anxious expression and stammered responses. “I’m afraid I have a rather chronic case of it.”

“Don’t test me, Scamander,” Picquery said, threat in her voice, and Newt resisted the urge to take a step away. He blinked at her shoulder and clutched the sleeve of his coat. “Have you released any of your creatures into New York? Is that what this is?”

“No.” Newt glanced at Tina, helpless. “Of course not. I’m just here for a visit. I haven’t even been here a week yet.”

“Are you quite certain they are all accounted for?”

“I did a head count this morning while I was feeding them.”

“Hm.” Picquery didn’t seem convinced. She looked at Tina for the first time. “Ms. Goldstein, my office, immediately. Mr. Scamander may come if he wishes; we might have some use of him, if he is willing to offer his expertise.”

She turned and strode off, dress flying behind her. Newt watched her go, motionless for a moment, before his eyes found Mr. Graves once more. The Auror was paying attention now, watching Newt with a sort of shrewdness that made him fidget. Newt blinked and looked away.

“Mr. Graves,” Tina said, “what is going on?”

This Graves wasn’t the same as the fake one Newt had been acquainted with. That man had been prim and polished, so sharp that Newt had been half convinced that if he brushed against him he would cut himself. The real Graves had slightly longer hair, sharper frown lines, a spot of mud underneath his jaw garnered from a morning in the field. Still, Newt had never seen someone wield authority and capability so effortlessly. He was nearly as intimidating as Picquery, and Newt hadn’t thought that possible.

“A body has been found,” he said, his voice low and deep and dripping with the arrogance that came with being in charge. He looked at Newt again, swept his gaze from Newt’s scuffed shoes to the unkempt curls he couldn’t keep out of his eyes. His frown deepened. Newt felt like he had just been sized up, and had the awful, gut-wrenching feeling that Mr. Graves wasn’t impressed with what he saw. He wrung his hands and dropped his head, wishing he had his case to hold onto, as Mr. Graves turned and started walking, throwing his words over his shoulder, expecting them to follow. “By a No-Maj.”

XXXXX

“Eighteen year old Debbie Forecoster,” Picquery said, dropping a packet of pictures on the desk. They fanned out magically in a graceful arc. Newt looked over Tina’s shoulder at the images of the dead body. He couldn’t tell if they were magical pictures, charmed to move, a new invention from the Middle East. The body in the picture was still, and perhaps he should be thankful for that. “Found by a Mr. Dennis Quincy on his way to work half an hour ago. He tried to call the No-Maj police, but we intercepted it.”

“She was the first to disappear,” Tina murmured, picking up one of the photos and studying it closer. A strand of hair was caught under the brim of her hat, and Newt’s hands twitched but he didn’t reach out to fix it. “I spoke with her parents a few days ago.”

“She went missing on her way home from the store,” Picquery said. Mr. Graves was standing behind her, apart from the group, arms crossed. His eyes were fixed on Picquery’s desk, his jaw clenched. Newt tried not to look at him. He didn’t want to be caught under that judgmental stare again. “She lived on East 106th street.”

“Those look like…” Tina said.

“Bite marks,” Newt said quietly. The girl’s clothes were covered in mud and ripped in several places, and through the shreds Newt could see dried blood caking her shoulder, the deeper crimson of the puncture wounds shining through her dress.

“What’s wrong with her eyes?” Tina asked.

Newt came closer to look. Tina’s shoulder pressed against his, and for once Newt was glad for the contact, because he suddenly felt cold from head to toe.

The girl’s eyes were milky white, devoid of both iris and pupil, shining out like two marbles in the photograph from between filthy blond hair. Newt swallowed and dropped his gaze, unable to look any longer. Tina suddenly felt too close, and he took a small step away.

“That bite mark isn't from a human,” Picquery said. "Mr. Scamander, do you have any knowledge of a creature that might have these sorts of effects?”

“I know of several whose venom causes a loss of pigmentation,” Newt said. Mr. Graves wandered over to the window, peering out as though he was searching for something, but Newt knew he was listening because of the rigid set of his shoulders. “In her eyes, and it looks like her hair as well, look at the roots... There are all kinds of poisonous bites that would have these effects.”

“And what about the behavior of whatever did it?” Mr. Graves shifted to look at Newt, eyes narrowed, and Newt squirmed under the intensity. “She’s been missing for three weeks. What kind of creature holds a body that long?”

“Our healers listed the time of death as about six o’clock last night,” Picquery said.

“Then it was holding her captive,” Tina said, placing the picture back on the desk and picking up another, this time of the place the body was found. “Newt?”

“Hm.” Newt leaned closer to the first photograph, squinting at the bite marks. “It’s strange behavior for a creature, but not altogether unheard of. There could be a number of reasons for this sort of treatment. It could be malicious, a creature holding a person until it’s ready to feed… Acromantulas have been known to wrap prey in cocoon-like web encasings, and their venom could certainly have strange reactions like this…. Or perhaps the creature wasn’t malicious at all.”

“If it wasn’t malicious, it wouldn’t have killed,” Picquery said, fixing him in an intense look.

“Not necessarily.” Newt met her eyes. “Creatures kill for all sorts of reasons, just like people. They kill because they’re threatened, frightened, in danger. Perhaps this creature was protecting its young. We can’t know for sure until we know what exactly it was.”

“Then we need to find out as soon as possible.” Picquery rested her elbows on the table and leaned closer. “Mr. Scamander, you are the world’s leading expert on magical creatures,” she said, and Newt couldn’t help the thrill of excitement that ran through him. “I don’t know why you’re back in America, or how this timing worked out, but if you offer your help we will gladly accept.”

“I can try,” Newt said, looking back at the bite wounds again, mind already running through the different creatures it could be. He hesitated to get involved in any animal extermination politics, but the lurch he felt in his stomach when he saw the girl’s blank eyes filled him with a familiar determination. If there was a creature running rampant, he had to stop it before it hurt anyone-- and hopefully he would be able to step in and help it as well. Perhaps he could find a way to contain it before MACUSA got involved.

“You are supposed to be on vacation,” Tina muttered.

“Don’t tell Queenie,” Newt said. He thought he heard a small chuckle and glanced over to see Mr. Graves just as impassive as before, expression schooled and flat. Perhaps it had been Pickett; he reached up to the space between the lapels of his coat where Pickett liked to peek out, and a soft, feathery touch brushed his finger.

“Excellent,” Picquery said. “You’ll be listed as a consultant on the case. Goldstein, Graves, I’m putting you two in charge.”

Tina blinked, slightly surprised, then straightened. “Yes, Ma’am,” she said, pride shining through her words, and Newt smiled a little.

“There are five more people missing,” Picquery said, “and three of them are under twenty. Find them before another body turns up.”

XXXXX

“Anything?” Tina murmured, so close that the words tickled Newt’s ear. She might have meant for the close proximity to be comforting, or perhaps she was trying to be discreet, but she failed in both endeavors; Graves could hear every word, and the warm breath on his cheek made Newt want to sidle away. He resisted because he knew it would hurt Tina, and also because any movement would put him closer to the dead body.

“I don’t think so,” Newt said, eyeing it briefly before looking away again.

“If he would get closer, maybe he could do more than _think_ about it.” Mr. Graves’s back was to them, broad shouldered and imposing as he leaned over the sterile metal table. The body of the girl lay there, covered by nothing but a thin white sheet drawn up to her armpits, leaving the bite marks on her shoulder visible. They were bloody and uncleaned and although this room, tucked so far under MACUSA it may as well not be part of it, had that sharp metallic scent that came with doctor’s and dentist’s offices, Newt fancied he could smell the blood from where he stood pressed against the wall.

“He’s not an Auror, Graves,” Tina snapped. “Can’t you see he’s uncomfortable?”

Mr. Graves snorted. “This is a murder investigation,” he said, still not looking at them. “If he hasn’t the stomach for it, he can leave.”

Tina looked ready to protest further in Newt’s defense, but Newt touched the wool sleeve of her coat lightly to stop her.

“It’s a full set of teeth,” Newt said, stepping forward once, twice, stopping after three steps. He couldn’t bring himself to get as close to the table as Mr. Graves could, but at least he could see better from here-- not that that was necessarily a good thing. “Not just fangs, so that dismisses vampire.”

“Werewolf?” Mr. Graves looked at him over his shoulder, eyes and expression dark. He was close to the table but carefully not touching it, hands tucked into the pockets of his coat.

“She wouldn’t be dead,” Newt said. He cocked his head and stared at the puckered flesh. “Bite like that, no other visible mauling… that would have turned her, not killed her. And it wouldn’t explain the eyes either.”

“Then what is it? I thought you were the creatures expert here.”

“Graves,” Tina said again, coming up on Newt’s other side.

“A girl is dead, Goldstein.” Mr. Graves’s jaw was clenched. “We don’t have time to mess around.”

“There is no need to be rude.”

“If it will get him to do his job, then--”

“What’s this?” Newt, who had tuned their argument out completely, came forward so quickly Mr. Graves took a step away from him. He bent close to the puncture wounds and reached out, fingers hovering just above the skin surrounding the bites. His aversion was momentarily overshadowed by curiosity.

“Burns,” Mr. Graves said. “Probably the venom.”

“Her skin has turned black,” Newt said, and indeed, splattered here and there around the deep wounds were spots of black, crusty skin-- Newt was afraid that if he touched them, they’d crumble like burnt charcoal. He frowned, deep in thought. “What sort of poison would do that?”

“You tell us.”

Newt’s eyes roved upward to the girl’s face, and he took in the half-lidded eyes peering back, murky and white. Up close he could see they, too, were veined with black, thin web-like structures that looked like cracks. Her light hair was knotted and caked in mud. Newt reached out and took a strand between his fingers, rubbing so the mud came off on his hands. He looked at it with a frown, mind turning the information over.

“Don’t touch, Mr. Scamander,” Mr. Graves said, sharp and exasperated. “It might tamper with the evidence.”

“Mud,” Newt murmured. “She was being stored somewhere dirty, possibly earthy, and definitely wet. The creature probably prefers nature. Which means you won’t normally find it in the city, but then… why New York?”

“Newt?” Tina was holding her hat in her hand, letting it swing with every step she took. Her hair was a mess and her expression was calculating. “Do you have any idea what it might be?”

“I need to do research,” Newt said, running through books in his head which he thought might help him. He would first look for creatures common to North America, but these symptoms coupled together were so obscure he had a feeling that the creature had been brought from elsewhere.

“Then do it,” Mr. Graves said. Newt finally forced himself to make eye contact with the man, more out of curiosity than anything. Mr. Graves’ eyes were dark brown, bordering black, and the look he turned on Newt was irritated, as though Newt was doing something to hinder the investigation instead of help it. It made him lightheaded, more so than it usually did when he looked people directly in the eye.

“I’ll need to get back to my case.” Newt dropped his gaze again, blinking away the discomfort blooming in his stomach. He looked again at the girl, and this time he saw the shape of her nose, the small silver studs in her ears, the _realness_ of her, and dear Merlin, that was a dead body, a dead _child_ \--

“Newt?” Tina grabbed ahold of his arm and steered him away from the table. She searched his face with her gaze, taking inventory, and Newt tried to smile at her but that only made her more concerned. “It’s alright, Newt, breathe. Graves, I’m going to take him out of here.”

“Hm,” Mr. Graves said, eyes following them as Tina pulled Newt out and into the hall. When the door was shut behind them she guided Newt until his back was against the wall, supporting him. His hands came out, scrabbling at it, smooth plaster under his fingers, and he gripped the stability of it.

“Breathe, Newt,” Tina said. She didn’t try to comfort him, thank Merlin, and instead stood there and watched with her arms wrapped around herself as he calmed himself down and steadied his breathing. “Are you alright?”

“Yes,” Newt said. “I’m sorry, I just-- I haven’t seen many dead bodies, uh, human bodies, that is, and--”

“I understand.” Tina finally reached out to brush a piece of hair out of his eyes. She sighed, and her forehead creased with worry. "I'm sorry about Graves. He's awful, but I promise that it's not just you."

"That's alright," Newt said. He wished he could be comforted knowing that this was just what Graves was like, and he was used to people disliking him, but the immediacy of it was unsettling.

Tina was still watching him. “I’m sorry for dragging you into this. I should have listened to Queenie, you shouldn’t be seeing this stuff.”

“No,” Newt said, “I can help.”

“You don’t have to,” Tina insisted. “This isn’t your job, Newt, it’s mine.”

“There’s a girl lying dead, and there’s an entire city of people out there who could share her fate if we don’t stop this,” Newt said. He smiled even though the situation was nowhere near funny, because he could see the worry in Tina’s expression and wanted to do something to ease her mind. “Besides, there’s a creature running rampant in New York that shouldn’t be here. I’d say that’s exactly my job, isn’t it?”

XXXXX

“I’m alright, Queenie, really.” Newt tried to reassure her even as she pressed a hot mug of tea into his hands with a distraught expression. “I really ought to get down into my case and start researching.”

“You’re going to sit right there until I say so,” Queenie said, and then she turned on Tina, who was standing with Jacob by the front door. Tina shrank under Queenie’s sharp look, chewing on her bottom lip nervously.

“When you two said you were going for a walk,” Queenie said, voice dangerously light, “I assumed you’d be taking a stroll around Central Park, not looking at dead bodies.”

“It wasn’t planned, Queens,” Tina said. She had shed her heavy coat and stood now in a simple button down shirt and trousers, short hair still mussed. “I got a call from work and Newt offered to--”

“I know what Newt offered to do, and you should have told him no,” Queenie said. She swept past her sister without looking at her, flicking her wand at the kettle to refill it. “Now he’s as involved in this case as you are, and you’re _both_ in danger. What about you, Jacob? Do you want to go help as well?”

“Queenie,” Jacob started, but Queenie cut him off.

“Do not tell me to calm down,” she snapped. He fell silent and looked at Newt, helpless. Newt hugged his tea closer to his chest, not drinking, eyes fixed on Queenie as she stalked around the small kitchen like a tornado, waving her wand here and there to clean and straighten things that didn’t need it.

It had taken her only seconds to sense Newt’s residual distress, and after a few moments of probing had the whole story. Newt had never been good at Occlumency, had never been able to grasp the subtleties of the skill, but now he decided that it was time he learned, if only to prevent situations like these.

“I put up with you being an auror, Tina,” Queenie said. She had run out of things to do in the orderly kitchen and was now leaning against the table, wand clutched in her hand, pink lips quivering despite the glare still fixed on her face. “I put up with it because you’re good at it and I’m so proud of you. But I can’t bear it. This case is one of the most dangerous ones you’ve ever had, and now it’s not just you, it’s Newt, too, and the both of you are going to be putting yourself in danger…” She slumped against the sharp corner and pressed her face into her hands, wand clattering on the table as she dropped it. “God, Tina, I can’t bear it.”

Tina and Jacob both started forward, hesitant, unsure, but it was Newt who set down his mug and got there first. He moved slowly, and when he was close enough to Queenie he reached out and touched her wrist because he knew she responded best to physical contact..

“Queenie,” he said, his voice as gentle as it was when he dealt with his creatures. “Would you look at me?”

Queenie trembled under his touch. When she peeked between her fingers at him, hands dropping infinitesimally, her grey eyes were filled with tears. Newt took advantage of the relaxed position and slipped his hand into hers, entwining their fingers, and her mouth fell open in surprise. Newt rarely initiated any sort of contact, but he knew that was what she needed right now the same way he knew when the occamies needed space to prevent overstimulation.

His instincts were confirmed when she squeezed his hand, clutching his fingers in hers like it was keeping her from drifting away.

“Queenie,” he said, “I know that it’s frightening. But Tina’s the best in the business, you know that.”

Queenie exhaled in what might have been a laugh, swiping at her eyes with her free hand. Newt took that as positive feedback.

“And I know what I’m getting into,” Newt said. “I’ve gotten myself into worse, after all. You know Tina has my back, and I have hers. I’ll protect her, Queenie, I promise. We’ll be safe. But this is something that we have to do.” He dropped his voice, even softer now. “A young girl is dead, a girl who should be… talking to her friends, exploring her career, not lying in a vault in MACUSA being studied. We can’t let that continue.” He let the memory of seeing her there enter his mind, let the helplessness he had felt overwhelm him, and Queenie gasped softly as fresh tears sprang into her eyes. “We have to do this,” Newt said. “But we’ll be safe.”

Queenie made a small choking noise and fell forward, arms wrapping around Newt. He let her press her face into his shoulder and held her as she shook, until a hand touched her shoulder and they both turned to see Jacob there. With a soft sob Queenie let go of Newt and threw herself at Jacob, who caught her easily and held her close, arms around her waist and lips at her ear as he whispered softly to her.

Newt stepped away, feeling terribly intrusive. The refilled kettle rang out sharply, startling them all, and Queenie and Jacob detached to look at it. Queenie was wiping furiously at her eyes. Newt waved his hand and the whistling stopped.

“I know you’re all quite fond of coffee,” he said quietly into the empty room, “but I think you’ll find that there’s nothing quite as medicinal as a cup of tea.” He got a fresh mug and spooned the tea leaves in from the still open tin, quickened the steeping process with a tap of his wand and a murmured spell, then turned to Queenie with the offering. She smiled shakily at him and accepted it, one hand still clutching Jacob’s arm.

“Thank you, Newt,” she said.

Newt smiled at the ground and turned to Tina, who was still standing by the doorway. Her eyes were wide and glistening with unshed tears, her attention fixed on her sister. Newt hesitated before moving towards her.

“I’m going to step into my case,” he said. “It’s feeding time. Would you…?”

“I’ll join you,” Tina said, quickly. She tore her eyes away from Jacob and Queenie, who were locked in an embrace again. “I’ll join you.”

XXXXX

“I wish I could read her thoughts sometimes.” Tina absently reached out and stroked Dougal, who was entwined in Newt’s arms. The demiguise blinked at her. “It would make it easier to know how she’s feeling. Maybe then I wouldn’t say all the wrong things.”

“You putting yourself in so much danger scares her, it’s not your fault,” Newt murmured, shifting his weight so he could support the demiguise and lean down to his bucket to pull out a handful of wriggling woodlice. He tossed them towards the tree. The bowtruckles fell upon them with a buzz of noise, and a light weight scuttled up Newt’s arm to perch on his shoulder. “Hello, Pickett,” he said, offering his hand. Pickett jumped onto the back of it. “Want to go back?” He knew it was pointless to ask, but he always tried. When he tried to offer the tree to the small creature reached down to wrap leafy appendages around his finger, refusing to even look at the other bowtruckles. Newt laughed. “Alright, just take a woodlice, then. You’ll want to go home at one point.”

“I don’t mean to.” Tina gazed at the feasting bowtruckles, hand knotted in Dougal’s hair. He shifted defensively, fingers curling against Newt’s neck.

“Don’t grip his fur so tightly,” Newt advised. “They’re hunted for their fur, it’ll frighten him.”

“Oh,” Tina said, letting go of the demiguise. It pressed itself closer to Newt, burrowing into his side, and Newt laughed again, unable to help himself.

“Queenie will be fine,” Newt said. He stooped down and set Dougal down. The demiguise touched down on the grass with a mournful expression. “I know, Dougal, but Mummy has to go now. I’ll be back for more cuddles later.”

Tina watched the demiguise bound off toward its nest as Newt picked up the bucket. “You’re so good with them.”

“I should hope so,” Newt said, staring at his feet. “It is my job, after all.”

Tina was lost in thought as they walked back to the shed. Newt dropped the bucket outside and strode through the door, rubbing his hands together, looking around at his bookshelves thoughtfully. There weren’t too many of them, because before him there had been no massively circulated books on magizoology, and that’s the only kind of book he was interested in. Aside from the couple dozen books on creatures he had collected from around the world, all he had on the shelves shoved into the far corners of the room were miscellaneous natural healing and potions books, and a few fiction novels to keep him busy if he ever had a free moment to sit down (which he never had, but it was a nice thought nonetheless).

“We need to find a venom that burns the skin while simultaneously removing pigmentation from the eyes,” he said. “I know of a few creatures that would have those individual effects, but when coupled together…”

“Do you think she’s alright?” Tina looked up at the hatch door.

“Jacob would have come to get us if she wasn’t,” Newt said distractedly, “but you can go check on her. Maybe something from Asia…” He bent down to rummage in his bookshelves, running his fingers over the worn spines. Many of the copies he had were unique, personal journals gifted to him by shamans and herbalists on his travels. Much of the leather binding was handmade and already peeling.

“No, it’s probably fine.” Tina sighed. “Thank you, for calming her down. I never see her upset, so I’m afraid I never know what to do.”

“Quite alright,” Newt said. He pulled a book out of its place and crouched, flipping it open. It was a medieval text with yellowed pages and bold misspellings, more speculation than fact. He skimmed the first page once before shaking his head and closing it. “No, these are all water creatures. The creature would have to move on land, unless…”

“Unless?”

“Unless it was using the sewage systems.” Newt stood, thoughtful. “That’s the only wide-reaching water system in the city. But that would mean its victims would have all had to wander down there as well… Unless, of course, it’s only _semi_ aquatic…”

“I do hope you don’t expect me to be of any help.” Tina took a seat at his table, resting her chin in her hands and tracking his movements as he paced back and forth. He had opened the book again with renewed energy. “I don’t understand a word you’re saying.”

“That’s alright, I don’t need you,” Newt said, still skimming the book.

“Oh, well in _that_ case…”

“Huh?” Newt twirled to look at the other side of the room, frowning deeply. “Where did I put that handbook? I thought there was a creature like this in it…”

“Should I go?” Tina sounded vaguely amused as Newt dropped down to dig underneath the sink.

“What?” Newt poked his head out of the cupboard, craning his head awkwardly over his shoulder to look at her. “Oh, Tina. You should probably get some analysts in to test the mud, figure out where it’s from. That will help.”

“Already on it,” Tina said. She cocked her head to the other side and raised her eyebrows. “Do you need any help, Newt?”

“No,” Newt said, diving back under the cupboard. He reached out and felt in the far corners. He _knew_ he had placed that book somewhere down here “Just researching.”

Tina laughed. “Let me know if you find anything.”

“Semi-aquatic,” Newt murmured as his fingers scooped up dust and shriveled potions ingredients in the back of the cupboard. He distantly heard the hatch door creak open and then close again. “Hm…”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I’d like to have a word with you about Mr. Scamander,” Picquery said after a moment of silence.
> 
> Percival frowned. “What about him?”
> 
> “You didn’t have the pleasure of being present during his last visit to America,” she said, “and thus don’t understand the certain element of… chaos he brings with him.”

_Suspicio_

**Percival**

Percival used to consider walking through MACUSA one of his favorite parts of the day. He rarely ventured out of his office, hounded as he was by paperwork at all hours of the day. But when he was summoned to another part of the building or had to go and take care of some problem, he would pull on his most short-tempered expression-- the one that ensured he wouldn’t be approached-- and enjoy every poorly concealed look of awe or nervousness he garnered. He knew that he was intimidating, because he had spent years building up that persona. Intimidation got you places. He and Picquery had worked hand in hand throughout their careers, building each other up and tearing other people down to get to their respective positions. They had nearly destroyed each other multiple times, but thankfully had managed to salvage some kind of a friendship despite it all. Now at the top, their appearance amongst the common folk drew stares and whispers and cowering, and it amused Percival to no end.

It was different now. It had been for the past year. There were whispers, yes, and more stares than before, but Percival could read in his admirers’ body language that they were no longer frightened of him. Intimidated, perhaps, but no longer cowering. After working side by side with Grindewald for so long, there wasn’t much that they were afraid of anymore-- except the chance that it could happen again.

Percival knew the rumors that had circulated after Grindelwald’s advantageous position was revealed. Picquery had squashed most of them before he had returned, but for months afterwards he heard snippets of whispered conversations, listened to his name flit from person to person. He had heard every variation of the story: he had always been working for Grindelwald and still was, he was just a political puppet, he was probably _still_ Grindelwald and it was only a matter of time before they were all attacked again. Many questioned why he was even still allowed to be the Director of Magical Security if he couldn’t even keep himself secure. Percival had no answer to that, because it was the first thing he had asked Picquery upon his return.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she had said when he asked whether she was letting him go. “You’ll be back in your office on Monday or you will answer to me.”

“I would completely understand if you fired me,” Percival had murmured. “There will be talk--”

“Damn the talk,” Picquery had said. “There’s always talk. You do good work, Percival, and I refuse to condemn you for one slip. One monumental slip, yes, but my point stands. We are stronger with you than without you, and that’s my final say on the matter.”

He had spent the first few months doing abysmal work, constantly worried that today was the day that the hammer would drop and he would be fired. Picquery had been been frustratingly gentle with him, forgiving any temperamental outbursts or mistakes in the field. He wasn’t used to being in this position, wasn’t used to being pitied and coddled and looked at like he was something dangerous about to snap. He hated it, and he couldn’t stop that nagging question in the back of his head, the one that kept him up at night: _Why had no one noticed?_

He knew his social life wasn’t exactly flourishing. He had drifted away from school friends, saw no one outside of work, hadn’t dated at all since his Ilvermorny days, and even those had just been flings, hook-ups in deserted classrooms when the rest of the students had been asleep. His father was dead and he hadn’t spoken properly to his mother in years. But still, _no one_ had noticed that he had been replaced by the darkest wizard in recent history. Was he really that awful, that alone?

After a few months of what others might call sulking and he called mental processing, he had thrown himself into his work with renewed energy to avoid thinking that question through. He looked into the eyes of people who hadn’t noticed he’d been gone and made up for lost time with tripled efficiency. He had tried, at first, to soften himself, to make up for years of ill temper, but the subsequent drop in respect had driven him back to shouting and barking orders. That got the job done at the end of the day, and Percival told himself that he didn’t care if he was well liked as long as he was still respected.

Now, a year after being found in that deteriorating apartment, he still loathed making the walk from his office to Picquery’s. He swept through the atrium at breakneck speed, steps quick and short, eyes fixed on his destination. The stares had calmed down considerably, but he knew his appearance anywhere piqued interest, and not the kind he had once coveted. He breathed a sigh of relief when he stepped into the hallway leading to the President’s chambers, straightening the sleeves of his black coat, taking a deep breath to steady himself.

“Come in,” Picquery called when he knocked. He turned the golden handle, carved in the shape of an eagle’s head, and let the door swing open under his touch.

Picquery’s office was surprisingly homey for such a harsh woman. It was simply decorated, but something about the gentle light of the fire she always kept burning in the hearth softened the edges of the stately portrait hanging behind her desk and made the likeliness of Picquery on it look thoughtful instead of threatening. The real Picquery, in the privacy of her office, held herself with less rigidity. She sat behind her desk now, paperwork splayed in front of her, and looked up at Percival over her plumed quill.

“Percival,” she said, setting it down. “Thank you for coming. Have a seat”

Percival remained standing, ignoring the wooden chair she kept in front of her desk. “Madame President,” he said, “did you need something?”

Picquery eyed him, lips flat. She waved her hand at the papers and they jumped into a single neat pile. “It’s about your newest case,” she said.

“What about it?” Percival had only just gotten back from his examination of the dead body after Goldstein had been forced to escort Scamander from the building. Percival couldn’t imagine suffering from such a weak constitution.

“I’ve officially put in the notice that you and Goldstein are in charge,” she said. “It’s a primary grade investigation, so the auror office is at your disposal until this thing is caught. I’m placing a lot of trust in you and Ms. Goldstein, Percival.”

“I understand, Madame President.”

“I hope my instincts about her are right,” Picquery said. The fire danced across her features as she looked at Percival. “She has been considerable trouble in the past, but her record has strengthened in the past few months.”

“I have faith in Ms. Goldstein, Madame,” Percival said.

“I’ve noticed.”

Indeed, Percival had taken something of a liking to Goldstein, or at least as close to a liking as he was capable of. She had been new to the team before his disappearance, and he hadn’t even recalled her name when she appeared with the other aurors in the apartment Grindelwald had been holding him in. After her reinstatement he had taken to watching her more closely, however, and he was impressed with what he had seen. Quick on her feet and passionate for the field, she took every job, even if it was beneath her skill level, and treated it like the only thing that mattered. Percival admired that in a person.

“The parents of the girl have been notified of her death,” Picquery said. “We’re refraining from further questioning until a more appropriate time.”

“I don’t think they can be any more help,” Percival said. “Goldstein already handed me a full report of their statements. They don’t know anything.”

“And neither do we,” Picquery said. She leaned back in her chair, arms crossed tightly. “Do you have a single lead, Percival?”

“I have several places that I want to investigate.”

“Is it based on fact or speculation?” When Percival didn’t respond, she sighed. “I want a lead within the next few days, Percival. The board is already on me about that zebra case, and if there are any more deaths… well, make sure there are no more deaths.”

Percival knew what she was talking about-- a group of wizards had recently been arrested for publicly tormenting a flock of zebras at a zoo. Eighty No-Majs had been obliviated that day, causing a scandal even bigger than Goldstein’s New Salamers debacle.

“Understood, Madame President.”

Picquery appraised him. Percival kept his posture rigid and eyes fixed on the Remembrall on her desk, a gift from one of her uncles after the election. The smoke inside swirled, curling sleepily against the glass walls of its enclosure.

“I’d like to have a word with you about Mr. Scamander,” Picquery said after a moment of silence.

Percival frowned. “What about him?”

“You didn’t have the pleasure of being present during his last visit to America,” she said, “and thus don’t understand the certain element of… chaos he brings with him.”

“I think I do, Madame,” Percival said. Scamander had featured heavily in the reports of the Grindelwald incident. Percival remembered reading in disbelief about the mess he had made in the execution chambers, how he and the Goldstein sisters and a _No-Maj_ of all things had escaped with the aid of some sort of creature from hell that had killed one auror and injured several others. It was a mystery that he had never been charged for it.

“I’ve allowed him onto this case because when it comes to creatures, he knows everything there is to know,” Picquery said, “and not because I trust him. Mr. Scamander is unpredictable, which makes him a threat to himself and everyone around him.”

“Dangerous?”

“Only accidentally.” Picquery’s voice was dry. “I have no doubt that he has already broken a dozen different laws in his short time here, and he and Ms. Goldstein are a particularly ill-advised combination. You will have to watch out for that.”

“I will,” Percival said. He remembered the strange dynamic between the pair of them, the way Goldstein had defended him with such fierce protectiveness, the way she had seemed hesitant to touch him, cautious. He wondered if there was a romantic element to their relationship, and inwardly groaned. He loathed dealing with lovestruck colleagues.

“What did you think of him?”

“Madame?”

“I hired him as a consultant without first discussing it with you,” Picquery said, “But I want your opinion. What do you think, can you work with him?”

Percival frowned. If he was being honest, Scamander confused him. After all the reports he had read, he had expected someone bubbly and energetic, bursting with the potential for disaster. The man he had met this morning was anything but. Tall and gangly with a hesitant, twitchy smile, he had lingered in the background whenever possible, shoulders hunched like he was trying to make himself smaller. Scamander jumped when someone addressed him out of the blue and communicated through soft stutters and quick words. Percival had only seen him make direct eye contact twice. He didn’t fancy the idea of dragging someone so soft-spoken and timid into battle with him.

“I’m not sure,” he answered. “If his expertise is truly what you say it is, though, I can make use of him.”

Picquery flicked a thin wrist at her bookshelf and a volume slid off of it, bobbing through the air to Percival. He reached out and took it, curious, glancing at the front cover. It was a beautiful book, bound in soft green leather and embossed with gold wording. “ _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them,_ ” he read. He looked up at Picquery, who had stood to turn on the coffee pot on the counter behind her desk.

“Read the author,” she said over her shoulder.

Percival dropped his gaze. “Newt Scamander.” He pulled a face. “That guy published a book?”

“Don’t tell me you haven’t heard of it,” Picquery said. She waved her wand and a cupboard opened. “He's sold thousands of copies already and it’s only in its second month of circulation. It’s on its way toward breaking records.”

“It’s about animals.” Percival watched as the coffee pot rose into the air and tipped to pour a steaming stream of dark liquid into each mug. The office filled with the bitter scent of it.

“It’s the most comprehensive guide ever published on magical creatures,” Picquery corrected, “and Mr. Scamander knows far more than is written there. He could be invaluable if he puts his full attention to this case.”

She picked up both mugs and walked them over to Percival. He accepted his without a word and tried to give the book back, but she raised a hand.

"Keep it," she said. A wry smile sprung onto her lips. "Perhaps it'll teach you a thing or two."

Percival didn't think any of the information in there would be useful-- really, they were just _animals_ \-- and he didn't think he'd be able to read it without picturing its author going white in the face at the sight of a routine dead body. He couldn't imagine Scamander sitting down to write a book, especially not a bestseller like this, but authors did tend to be on the shy side, he supposed. Maybe it made perfect sense.

He slipped the book into the pocket of his coat, then raised his mug to his lips to take a sip. The drink burned the inside of his mouth but was just the thing he needed after a long day, and prepared the way he liked it: strong with just a dash of milk.

“That doesn’t mean I don’t want you to keep a close eye on him, though.” Picquery stood close to Percival, holding her mug in both hands, expression serious. “I want you to watch him. I can’t entrust Goldstein with the job, she’ll let her emotions tamper with her judgment. But you need to make sure that Scamander isn’t going to do anything dangerous.”

“Like?”

“Like try to save whatever it is killing people.”

Percival raised his eyebrows. “Only a madman would do that.”

Picquery snorted. Her gold earrings swayed back and forth, drawing a small shadow across her cheek. “I assure you that Mr. Scamander is only slightly more rational than a madman,” she said. Her dark eyes glinted in the dim light. “Watch him, Percival. When it comes to dangerous creatures, you can’t trust him. The man won’t let any law get in his way when it comes to protecting things he deems important.”

“Very well,” Percival murmured.

Picquery watched him, close enough for their elbows to knock. Her gaze was a searchlight. “You haven’t been sleeping again,” she said.

Percival sighed. “Madame.”

“If I couldn’t see through Glamours, I wouldn’t be president,” she said. She turned and walked back to her desk, waving her hand. A plush armchair replaced the small wooden one. “Sit. Please, Percival.”

Percival curled his fingers around the mug, which stung his fingers, and then gave in. He sank into his seat as she dropped primly into her own, watching him from across the desk.

“Care to explain those under-eye bags you’re trying to hide?” she asked, sipping her coffee.

“I’ve had a few late nights,” Percival said. “It’s nothing.”

“Nightmares again?” Picquery drew her eyebrows together in a concerned knot. Percival raised his eyes to the dark ceiling overhead. He knew it had been a mistake telling her about those.

“No,” he lied. “Just cleaning up after my department’s ineptitude.”

Picquery blew across the top of her coffee, dispersing the steam rising from it. “You always blame work.”

“Work is always to blame.”

“You’re not as subtle as you think, Percival.” There it was, that softened tone that Picquery had adopted for the first few months after his return. It made Percival’s blood boil. “I know this has been hard, but your recovery has been truly impressive.”

“Madame President,” Percival said mechanically, “I ensure you that I’m--”

“Oh, drop it, Percival. You never called me Madame President before.” Picquery’s lips twisted. “I recall a moment of impertinence in which you called me a ‘blasted harlot’ at my mother’s Christmas party.”

“I apologized repeatedly for that,” Percival muttered. “But to be fair, you called me a snob.”

Picquery snorted. “You are a snob, Percival. When’s the last time you had a steak that didn’t cost more than tuition to Ilvermorny?”

“You’re being hyperbolic again, Seraphina.”

“Only snobs say hyperbolic.”

Percival cracked a smile. Picquery returned it.

“Let me know if you need to talk, Percival,” she said. “My office is always open.”

“I know,” Percival said. He looked down into the swirling depths of his coffee. “Thank you, Seraphina.”

XXXXX

Percival always walked home. He knew that it would be easier and quicker to Apparate, but he enjoyed the brisk chill of evening and the last bit of exercise before the day was over. He thought more clearly on the empty sidewalks, strolling through the quieter streets of the city back to his apartment, unbothered by memos or appointments or other aurors jabbering at his door. It was his opportunity to try and unwind, and he coveted those fifteen minutes he had to himself.

He got home that night later than usual after taking the scenic route. He had used that time to formulate a plan for tomorrow’s investigation. He would go back with Goldstein to investigate the place the body had been found, and then meet with Scamander on his own. Perhaps without Goldstein there Percival would have a better shot at figuring the man out. Maybe Scamander would even have an idea of what creature it was, and Percival could drop him and move on with his investigation without having to drag the shy man into a fight. He didn’t think Scamander would fare well in any sort of duel, human or otherwise.

He mounted the front steps in the dark, memory telling him where to place his feet. He was tempted to cast a _Lumos_ as he entered the entrance hall, but his neighbor was a No-Maj with a tendency to stick her nose where it didn’t belong. Percival had already had to Obliviate her three times since moving in, and Picquery was getting exasperated with him. So he strode forward into the dark, hand grappling for a moment before finding the railing of the stairway.

At his front door he touched the knob, glanced over his shoulder, and then murmured “ _Alohomora._ ”  It was at least dark enough to do that. He felt the tingle of wandless magic run through his arm, delightfully warm, and the door sprang open with a click. He entered and turned the entry light on, pulling off his hat and coat.

It was a large apartment, spacious with a vaulted ceiling, because Percival had always gravitated to the more grandiose architecture (which did _not_ make him a snob). He toed his shoes off in the entryway and waved his hand to close the silk curtains and turn on all the lights, illuminating the empty space. His footsteps broke the heavy silence, the tiles cold through his wool socks. He walked into the kitchen and debated for a moment making a pasta dish for dinner, but he couldn’t justify going through all that work for just himself. Instead he grabbed the last hunk of bread from the loaf he had bought a few days ago and filled a glass with tap water to appease his hunger.

It was still early, so he pulled out some current case files and sat down on his sofa. As he tore off pieces of stale bread he read through the reports, signing off where he needed to and adding comments for his aurors when he thought they had done the job well or perhaps needed to do something different next time for safety. When he came to the zebra case he sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, exasperated. Sometimes he didn’t think he could put up with the world for a moment longer.

When the bread was long gone and his glass was empty, he closed the folder and rubbed his eyes. It was late, he knew it, and fatigue was dragging at his muscles, but he was still reluctant to go to bed. He stood with a groan as his muscles stretched and walked down the short hall to the bathroom, deciding to take a quick shower.

He drew it out as long as possible, standing under the boiling stream until it started to run cold, then stepped out and wrapped himself in a towel. Coming out from behind the curtains sent a trail of goosebumps up his arms, and he took a deep breath, standing still to get accustomed to the temperature. His eyes wandered to the mirror and he looked at himself for a moment. His Glamour had dropped, and the bags under his eyes were pronounced in the cloud of steam surrounding him. Even though his hair was wet and untidy he could see the silver peeking through and the new lines that had appeared on his face, lines that only became more pronounced when he frowned at his reflection. He looked… old. He knew he wasn’t young, of course, but he had never seen himself so worn out. It was unnerving.

He towel-dried his hair as he walked into his bedroom and took out his nightclothes with a wave of his hand. He pulled the shirt on and wriggled into the pants, and then there was nothing left to do but lay down. He clapped his hand once to extinguish the light and then laid back against the cold pillows, drawing his sheets up to his chin, staring up into the dark.

Percival wished that he could relish the comfort and the silence, but this was always his least favorite part of the day. It took him hours to fall asleep. Most nights it didn’t even happen. Left alone with his thoughts there was only so long before they would twist and turn to darker matters, memories of weeks spent chained up in a moldy bathroom, pressed uncomfortably on the hard tile floor, the sound of Grindelwald moving around in the other room and the jarring fear of seeing his own face smiling down at him. The thought of it made Percival grip the sheets more firmly and scowl into the night.

He shut his eyes and tried to fall asleep, tried to think of his case. He thought of Goldstein and how he hoped to have her promoted soon so he could work more closely to her. She was an efficient worker. And then he thought of Scamander, with his darting eyes and soft words, and tried to picture him doing half the things Percival had read about him. The descriptions didn’t fit.

But eventually his thoughts circled back to their original train and he turned onto his side, curling his knees up into the empty space. The silence of the room pressed down on him as his mind asked the same question again and again: _How did nobody notice?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for the lovely feedback! This is my first time publishing on AO3, and I'm still working through some bugs so bear with me through any mistakes. I hope you all enjoyed the chapter, and hopefully you liked Percival's POV; please leave a comment letting me know what you think! They really make my day. I hope you all have a lovely day wherever you are <3


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “President Picquery seems to think that your expertise will be invaluable to this case. I caution you to prove her right.”
> 
> Newt hesitated. “You don’t agree with her?" he asked quietly.

_Painitet_

**Newt**

“And then you just twist your wrist and cut off the pressure, and-- there.” Jacob lifted his piping tool and beamed at the cookie. “Perfect swirl.”

Newt frowned down at his own workplace. The bag of blue frosting felt awkward in his hand, and every time he tried to get it onto the cookie it squirted wildly and ruined everything. Jacob was trying to teach him how to decorate, but so far Newt had only succeeded in making a mess of an entire batch of sugar cookies. “I’m afraid I’ll never have as light a touch as you, Jacob.”

Jacob chuckled, setting another of his masterpieces aside. His cookies depicted intricate designs that wouldn’t have been out of place on an art gallery wall: the New York cityscape in fluffy grey frosting, a beautiful sunset in shades of yellows and oranges, the swirling blues and greens of the sea.

Newt’s were a mess of coagulating colors that didn't appeal to sight or taste. He felt bad for the waste of frosting.

“Don’t worry,” Jacob said, “I’ll add yours to my abstract collection.”

They were tucked into the back of Jacob’s shop after closing, and the faint smell of baking pastries and sickly sweet frosting was finally putting Newt’s mind at ease. He had a feeling that Queenie had instructed Jacob to invite him over to take his mind off of his research, and Newt was grateful. He was glad to be able to spend some time with Jacob. He hadn’t been with him alone in the week he had been in New York.

“You’re truly an artist, Jacob,” Newt commented, reaching out to straighten a cookie decorated with a beautiful pink flower, sliding it on the wire rack until it aligned with the rest. Each petal burst from the center of the cookie, rising in a three-dimensional display of beauty. The lamplight reflected off of the icing, making it look alive in the faux breeze Jacob had created. Newt knew a child would become infatuated with it tomorrow. It would be gone before ten. “Have you ever tried your hand at paper?”

“You mean proper drawing?” Jacob’s smile was good-natured even as he shook his head. “I’m afraid my skills don’t extend that far. If it’s not edible, I can’t do it, I’m afraid.”

Newt laughed. “Don’t sell yourself short.”

“Well,” Jacob said, “maybe when the shop isn’t so busy I’ll give it a try. There are hardly enough hours in the day as it is.”

Newt hummed and picked up the piping bag again, determined to try once more. Jacob was working on something that shined blue, but he kept his elbow angled to block Newt’s view. Newt didn’t pry, figuring it was another surprise. Jacob had already presented him with a green dragon and an attempt at a thestral, and although the coloring and the placement of body parts were wrong, Newt had been delighted with them.

For a few moments they worked in companionable silence. Newt, tongue between his teeth, succeeded in drawing a straight line and set to work filling in the space beneath it, hoping to create a decent depiction of the harbor. His sleeves were rolled up past his elbows to keep them clean and out of the way. He normally tried to hide his arms, which were mottled with scars-- an occupational hazard of a magizoologist-- and although Newt wasn’t ashamed of them, they always drew unwanted attention. Jacob, thankfully, hadn’t said a word, hadn’t even spared them more than a glance. Newt was grateful.

“Here we are.” Jacob was the first to break the silence, setting down his tools and appraising his work for a moment before twisting it towards Newt. “What do you think?”

Newt looked up from his gloopy ocean, peering through his hair. His breath caught in his throat. “Oh,” he said. “Jacob, it’s beautiful.”

“It’s an occamy,” Jacob said, pride in his voice.

“I see it.” Newt twisted his head to look at it better, fascinated. The blue icing swirled around and around the circular cookie to depict the coils of the snakelike creature. At the very center sat the head, shaped from impossibly small iced feathers and two large yellow eyes that stared up at Newt. It was gorgeous, and as near to lifelike as a pastry could get.

“It’s wonderful, Jacob,” Newt said. “Are you sure I can’t convince you to take up painting? Queenie says my shed can use some decoration that's not manure.”

Jacob chuckled, but his response was interrupted by a knock on the main door. It was distant, but it made them both look, their view through the doorway blocked by the counter. Jacob frowned.

“Who could that be at this hour?” He stood, wiping his hands on a dish-towel. When Newt made to follow Jacob waved him off. “No, no, it’s probably just a delivery guy. I put in an order for a new set of rolling pins, but it wasn’t supposed to come until tomorrow. I’ll just go collect them real quick. You keep working on your…” He peered over Newt’s shoulder at his current disaster. “Sky?”

“It’s supposed to be the harbor,” Newt muttered, unable to keep the sulking note out of his voice. “I drew a boat.”

“Right.” Jacob clapped him on the shoulder. “It’s looking great, buddy.”

He sighed as Jacob swept off, humming to himself as he disappeared into the front of the shop. Newt brushed his hair out of his eyes with the back of his wrist and examined his cookie. Perhaps if he added in the sunset it would look more like the ocean. Or maybe that would just make it look more like the sky? He bit the inside of his cheek in debate before shrugging. Either way, the sun couldn’t make it any worse.

He had just picked up the yellow piping tool and placed the first dollop above the horizon line when voices floated to the back of the shop. He bent his head down further, trying not to eavesdrop, even as the words grew louder and closer.

“He’s right back here,” Jacob was saying, “he was helping me out with some baking…”

Newt turned in his seat to see Jacob leading Mr. Graves into the kitchen. He sat still for a moment, startled, as they appeared. It was odd seeing Graves and Jacob side by side; the height difference was poignant, and Newt might have chuckled if it hadn’t been Mr. Graves.

“Mr. Graves,” he said, trying very hard not to trip over the chair leg as he got to his feet.

Mr. Graves was dressed as regally as before in a sweeping black coat and grey pinstripe suit. As he stepped into the kitchen he reached up to take his hat off, looking around the room. His hair was mussed in a way that made him look carefully windswept. As Newt watched, his gaze wandered the counters, climbed the table legs to look at the mess of sugary decorations, then fell on Newt himself, and Newt once more had the uncomfortable feeling that Mr. Graves was sizing him up. Then Mr. Graves frowned.

“Mr. Scamander,” he said, “you’re dripping.”

“What?” Newt looked down, surprised, to find that he was still clutching the yellow icing bag, and that he was applying enough pressure for it to squeeze out of the tip in squiggly lines. “Oh!” He set the bag on the table and dropped to his knees beside the pile of yellow. Jacob appeared to hand him a towel.

“I’m so sorry,” Newt said, frantically swiping at the mess. He only succeeded in spreading it even thinner over the tiles and bit his lip, feeling his cheeks heat. “Jacob--”

“It’s alright, Newt, I can go grab the mop.”

" _Scourgify._ ”

A wash of magic brushed Newt’s wrists as he lifted the towel to reveal sparkling clean tile. He blinked and looked up at Mr. Graves, who was watching him with an odd expression.

“Thank you,” Newt said, scrambling to his feet. The useless towel dangled from his fingers. “I forgot.”

“That you’re a wizard?”

Newt opened his mouth and then closed it, because he knew that if he said ‘yes’ Mr. Graves would just think he was more of an idiot than he already was. When Jacob reached for the towel Newt handed it over and said softly, “I’m terribly sorry.”

"No harm done,” Jacob chuckled. “Same thing happens to me all the time. It’s a pity I can’t use any of those nifty charms to clean my messes up.”

There was a beat of silence, and then Jacob seemed to realize what he had said. He looked at Mr. Graves, momentary panic crossing his face, but Mr. Graves just sighed and waved a dismissive hand.

“No need to worry, Mr. Kowalski,” he said, “I know all about your… _situation_ with Ms. Goldstein. MACUSA is tolerating your presence.”

Jacob just blinked. “Ah,” he said. “Well. Thank you.”

“Mr. Scamander,” Mr. Graves continued, “I thought I might have a word with you concerning the case we were assigned yesterday. Ms. Goldstein informed me that I would find you here.”

“Oh,” Newt said. “Right. Let me just, um…” He teetered for a moment, unsure of what to do or where to look, but Jacob interrupted him before he could do something stupid.

“I’ll give you two a few minutes of privacy,” he said. “I need to go count up the register for the day, anyway. Let me know if you need anything, Newt. Mr. Graves,” he said, inclining his head. Mr. Graves nodded once as Jacob left.

Newt realized he was now alone with Mr. Graves for the first time, and a heavy silence settled over the room. Newt wrung his hands and looked at his feet, face still burning with embarrassment. He had been hoping that after his poor show at MACUSA yesterday he’d be able to somehow prove himself to Mr. Graves, but he wasn’t off to a great start. In fact, he was off to probably the worst start anyone had ever had, and he’d only known the man for slightly over twenty-four hours. Perhaps Newt had broken some kind of record for the worst first impression.

Mr. Graves cleared his throat. “Shall we sit?”

Newt blinked. “Oh!” he said. “Yes, let’s, uh… right here.” He dropped hurriedly into his seat at the table as Mr. Graves sank into Jacob’s vacated chair. Mr. Graves appraised the table for a moment before delicately laying down his hat in the cleanest area.

“Those are beautiful,” he commented, eyes on Jacob’s tray of cookies.

“Ah,” Newt said, “those are Mr. Kowalski’s. He’s something of a genius.”

“Quite,” Mr. Graves said. Then he looked at the others and his face twisted. “Yours?”

“Ah,” Newt said again, awkwardly, “yes. I’m afraid I’m quite the _opposite_ of a genius.”

“No,” Mr. Graves said, “I didn’t mean… I see that you’re drawing space.”

Newt stared into his lap. “It’s the harbor, actually.”

Mr. Graves frowned and twisted his head to look at it. “Is it?”

“I drew a boat. Right there.”

“Oh,” Mr. Graves said, but it seemed that not even cordiality could take him any further down that route. Newt hurriedly changed the subject.

"Are there any new, uh... developments?"

“No," Mr. Graves said. "I’ve made a list of the places we should visit in order, starting with all the sites of disappearances. They’ve already been checked by our aurors, but perhaps there’s something they missed, or something that you will be able to see and recognize as a hint as to what this creature is. Speaking of… have you any leads in that department?”

“Well,” Newt said, shifting in his chair with his hands buried in his lap, “I’m still looking for exact creatures, but I think I’ve narrowed it down to semi-aquatic.”

“Semi-aquatic?”

“That means they live both on land and in water.”

“I know what semi-aquatic means, Scamander.” There was a lick of heat in his voice that made Newt recoil. “What made you settle on semi-aquatic?

“Well,” Newt said, moving his gaze back and forth between Mr. Graves’ shoulder and Jacob’s flower cookie, “the mud. The body came from somewhere wet, which means the creature is hiding somewhere wet as well. But it would need to be able to move on land, too, to take people. Thus…”

“Am I to take it that you are _only_ researching semi-aquatic creatures?”

“Um… So far?”

“Mr. Scamander.” Mr. Graves’ voice was pointedly patient. “We can’t afford to narrow our search so significantly with such little evidence. You’ll find that in this line of work that can be dangerous.”

“Right.” Newt twisted the sleeve of his shirt between his fingers, wishing he had his coat on. He felt bare without the heavy weight of it on his shoulders. “I’ll, uh, widen my scope a bit.”

“Thank you,” Mr. Graves said. “And if I might suggest one more thing-- try to actually focus on your job and not waste time sitting around with your friends icing gingerbread cookies.”

“These are sugar cookies, actually.” Newt dared to meet Mr. Graves’ eyes, briefly, and saw the other man was staring at him with unimpressed raised eyebrows. “I was only taking a break,” he said hurriedly. “I’ll be back to researching within the hour.”

“Sooner than that, Mr. Scamander.” Mr. Graves’ voice was dry. “President Picquery seems to think that your expertise will be invaluable to this case. I caution you to prove her right.”

Newt hesitated. “You don’t agree with her?" he asked quietly.

Mr. Graves twisted his head to scrutinize him. “I think that you will do everything within your power to help us find this creature,” Mr. Graves said. “But I also think that you’re still the same person who released dangerous-- and definitely _illegal,_ might I add-- beasts onto my city and placed their safety over fellow wizards and innocent civilians, and I think that you were never forced to take proper responsibility for those actions.”

Newt knew he shouldn’t rise to the bait, but the implication in Mr. Graves’ voice was clear, and he had never been one to take an insult lying down-- especially when it targeted his creatures. “The last time I was here you were locked up in an apartment in the Upper East Side while a monster with your face tormented and murdered an innocent boy,” he said, eyes trained on his lap. “Do not lecture me about responsibility, Mr. Graves. We have both unleashed terrible things on this city, but at least I cleaned up after mine.”

The silence reverberated in the air, and although Newt wasn’t looking at him, he suddenly felt sure that Mr. Graves was about to hex him. He flinched but didn’t lift his eyes when Mr. Graves stood, chair scraping on the tile.

“Do not presume to understand me, Mr. Scamander,” he growled.

“As long as you grant me the same courtesy.”

Mr. Graves made a low sound in the back of his throat. His shoes clicked against the tile as he walked away, then stilled as he paused in the doorway. “Find that creature before more than five lives depend upon it, Scamander,” he said. “Do your job right and we’ll never have to see each other again.” There was another pause. "You've got icing on your face, by the way."

Startled, Newt raised his hand to his forehead. His fingers came back streaked with blue icing, and he inwardly groaned, something inside him begging to crawl under a rock somewhere and never come out again. He had been covered in icing the _entire_ time?

“Mr. Graves,” Newt heard Jacob saying distantly. “Can I wrap up something to go?”

Newt jumped again when the door slammed shut, bell tinkling angrily. He scrubbed at his forehead blindly. His pulse was pounding, that familiar dread creeping up his spine, but he pushed it down as Jacob appeared in the doorway.

“Newt?” he asked. “He certainly left in a rush. What on earth happened?”

“Nothing,” Newt said. He swallowed and then forced his lips into a smile. “Terribly sorry for disturbing you, Jacob.”

XXXXX

Newt kept his hands tucked into the pockets of his coat to avoid accidentally touching something. This was, Graves had explained, an “active crime scene, Scamander, so try not to ruin the evidence.” Newt had never felt more out of place than he did now in this ‘active crime scene.’ He felt like his very breath might taint the most important clue if he didn’t watch his step.

He kept close behind Tina, nearly trodding on her heels a few times, but if she minded she didn’t say so. She and Mr. Graves were canvassing the small apartment in opposite directions with their wands out, checking for any discrepancies. Newt listened as Tina droned spells to reveal bloodstains, footprints, even a complicated one that Newt had never heard of that apparently revealed signs of a struggle. They searched for an hour, Newt and Tina taking the bedroom and bathroom, Mr. Graves covering the living room and kitchen.

When they met in the center Newt stared at the ground as Mr. Graves made a noise of frustration.

“Well, we didn’t think there would be anything,” Tina reasoned. She toyed with her wand, rolling it between her fingers. “The others already searched this place top to bottom.”

Mr. Graves didn’t answer her. Newt chanced a look at him. Aside from the cursory warning when they had first arrived, Mr. Graves hadn’t spoken to him directly all morning. Newt knew it was because of what had transpired last night, and guilt was gnawing at his chest. He felt awful. Mr. Graves wasn’t the most pleasant man, but Newt knew that he was under a lot of pressure at work, and there had been no excusing his words last night. He had to apologize, but he hadn’t had a chance with Tina around.

“There must be something,” Mr. Graves said. He turned and pulled up a couch cushion, flicking his wrist to illuminate his wand. Tina just sighed.

They were searching the apartment of Randy Simmons, the second wizard to disappear. His neighbors had gone to the No-Maj police a week after Debbie Forecoster had been reported missing. According to reports he had been rather reclusive, but Newt wouldn’t have guessed it from the lack of homeliness in the apartment. For someone who spent most of his time inside, Randy hadn’t done much decorating. The place looked catalogue-standard, right down to his bedroom, without a personal touch to be seen. The starkness made Newt uncomfortable, accustomed as he was to his own lived in shed and the Goldsteins’ cozy apartment.

“Graves,” Tina said, “there’s nothing here.”

Mr. Graves scowled at her over his shoulder. “And what of our consulting magizoologist?” He straightened and looked at Newt for the first time that day. Newt’s chest clenched with shame. “Anything?”

“Not that I can tell, no,” Newt murmured, dropping his gaze.

Mr. Graves clenched his jaw and looked around the apartment again. “We need something,” he said. “Picquery wants a lead _today_ and if I don’t give her something new she’ll have my head.”

“We don’t know for sure that Randy disappeared here,” Tina said. “He could have disappeared at work, or--”

“He clocked out of work at 6:15 P.M. on July 2nd,” Mr. Graves said, “and his neighbor saw him arrive here at 6:30, just like he did every day. Besides, there’s been magic here that doesn’t belong to Simmons. Can’t you feel it?”

“No,” Tina said. “I already told you, I’m not good with that stuff.”

Newt’s hands were hot and sweaty inside his pockets. He stared at his feet. He knew exactly what Mr. Graves meant; the apartment thrummed softly with magic, mundane, stale spells all performed by the same hand. Newt could feel the distant tingle of it when he reached out with his own power. Most of them were simple domestic spells Randy had cast about his apartment. There was something else, though, fresher than the rest but fading quickly. It brought a bitter taste to Newt’s mouth when he reached for it. Something magical had been there that didn’t belong.

“I don’t think it’s a spell,” Newt said, letting his eyes wander the apartment. The furniture was too big for such a small place. The long sofa nearly touched either sides of the walls, and Newt was starting to feel claustrophobic.

“Oh? And what, pray tell, does our resident genius have to say?”

Tina frowned. “Graves--”

“It’s a creature,” Newt said before Tina got caught up in Mr. Graves’ mood. “It has to be, I know this kind of magical register. Spellwork moves differently. It’s tight, controlled, but magical creatures… their magic is primal. You can feel the way it settles on your skin-- can’t you?” He directed this at Mr. Graves, who had his hand out, palm facing upwards. He was frowning, but the expression was more thoughtful than annoyed now.

“Do all magical creatures leave this?” he asked.

“They all leave some kind of trace,” Newt said. “Magic runs in their blood, but depending on how much actual magic was _used_ it can be either stronger or weaker than usual. Something as heavy as this… whatever was here used a lot of magic.”

“You both sound crazy,” Tina declared. “I don’t feel anything.”

“Some people are more sensitive to it,” Newt said, turning to continue searching the apartment with his eyes. He and Professor Dumbledore had discussed this once, the curious ability of some wizards that allowed them to feel the magic in the air. Dumbledore had written a few papers on this peculiarity, and his theory was that it had to do with the individual's magic reacting to the foreign environment.

“That’s why we couldn’t get a read on what spell it was,” Mr. Graves said. “It wasn’t a spell at all.”

“Alright,” Tina said, “but that doesn’t put us any closer to a lead. We still can’t figure out what kind of creature it was.”

“No,” Mr. Graves said. “But if we can find a way to trace whatever this is, maybe pick up a trail…”

Newt’s eyes caught something in the entryway and he frowned. Hands still deep in his pockets, he moved forward, away from the discussion. A single picture frame hung on the wall near the door. Newt had missed it when he had come in, but as he got close to it he saw that it was a black-and-white portrait of a woman, unmoving and stiffly posed. She wasn’t particularly pretty, but there was something in her flat lips and downturned eyes that drew Newt closer. Unbidden, his hands came free of his pockets and he reached for the picture, lifting it off of its hook.

“Mr. Scamander, what did I say about touching?” Mr. Graves asked, exasperated.

“Who is this?” Newt asked, running his thumb along the edges of the cool metal frame.

“I don’t know,” Tina said. “A family member, probably. What does it matter?”

“It’s the only picture in the entire apartment,” Newt said.

“So?” Mr. Graves sounded annoyed again. “Stop messing around and put it back, Scamander. This is a crime scene.”

Newt chewed on his bottom lip, unwilling to let this drop. It seemed important to him.

A sharp knock on the door made him jump and nearly drop it.

“Get back.” Mr. Graves was at his side in an instant. He grabbed Newt’s arm to draw him away from the doorway. His wand was already out and aimed as Tina crept forward, wand clenched in her own fist. When another knock sounded Mr. Graves tightened his grip on Newt’s coat as though to keep him from bolting. He needn’t have worried; Newt was frozen to the spot, clutching the picture frame in both hands, heart pounding as he watched Tina. Mr. Graves’ hand was warm through the wool of his coat.

Tina dropped her wand behind her back and twisted the doorknob. She pulled it open a fraction and peeked out. “Hello?” she asked, her voice forcibly calm and casual.

“Oh, hello!”

At the pleasant voice, Newt relaxed marginally in Mr. Graves’ grip. Over Tina’s shoulder he could see an older woman standing there, eyes wide underneath bright blue eyeshadow. Her pale pink lips clashed with the rest of her heavy makeup. “I’m so sorry, I heard noise, and-- well, hello there!”

She had just caught sight of Newt and Mr. Graves. Mr. Graves dropped Newt’s arm and pocketed his wand in the same move, moving forward smoothly.

“Hello,” he said, the picture of perfect poise. “We’re sorry if we disturbed you. We’re from the police station, and--”

“Oh, are you still looking for Randy?” The woman’s face dropped. She tightened her grip on her orange purse. Newt looked at it, fascinated by her fashion sense. “I did think that he’d be back by now. The poor boy, I hope he’s alright…”

“Were you close with Mr. Simmons?” Tina asked.

“Close?” The woman shook her head. “Oh, no. I wouldn’t say any of us were really close to him. He was rather a quiet boy, didn’t come out much. I live right next door and I’ve only had a handful of conversations with him. Still, he was very sweet. Sad, maybe, but sweet.”

“Sad?” Newt asked. The woman looked at him, thin eyebrows furrowed, but before she could respond Mr. Graves spoke again.

“You’re Ms. Patriclan, correct?” he asked. “You notified the police of his disappearance.”

“Yes,” she said. “His mail was piling up. I could see it through the little window in the box, you know that glass pane? And that’s just not like him, he may not come out often but he never fails to get his mail. So I saw it and I thought to myself, ‘Now, that’s not right,’ so I came straight up here and knocked but no one answered. That’s when I called the police.” Her eyes found Newt’s again. “He always had this expression on his face,” she said, as though Graves had never interrupted her. “Like he was about to cry, or maybe he had just been crying. I don’t know. He just always struck me as sad. I tried to reach out to him, but he didn’t seem to like company very much.”

Newt tightened his grip on the photo frame and stepped forward before Mr. Graves could stop him. “This woman,” he said. “Do you know who she is?”

“Oh,” Ms. Patriclan said. She reached out and took it, tipping her head to the side to look. The orange purse dangled from her wrist. Newt realized that she was younger than she had first appeared; up close, she didn’t look much older than sixty. Her eyeshadow was caked on and creased. “I believe that’s his mother. I asked about it, too, the first time I came to visit him. He didn’t want to talk about it, but I believe that’s who he said it was.” She raised her eyes once more to meet Newt’s.

“You remind me of him.” Her voice was softer now. “Randy. You have the same look in your eyes.” She raised a hand from the photograph and let it hover between them, like she was about to touch Newt’s cheek. “Sad.”

Something grabbed his hand and he looked down to see Tina threading her fingers through his, applying pressure to get him to take a step back. He reached out and took the photograph again as he stepped away. His hands were shaking. “Thank you,” he said, trying not to stumble over his words.

Ms. Patriclan moved her gaze to Mr. Graves, who had come up on Newt’s other side, and Newt felt a weight lift from his shoulders as her attention shifted and the eye contact broke.

“Thank you, Ms. Patriclan.” Mr. Graves’ voice was professionally firm. “We were just about to wrap up here. We’ll let you know if we find anything.”

“Please do,” Ms. Patriclan said. “And, please-- find Randy. He’s a sweet boy, really.”

Mr. Graves murmured his promises and shut the door. It locked with a click. He turned away and rolled his eyes. “She’s completely off her rocker.”

“Oh, she only wants to help.” Tina released Newt’s hand, leaving him holding just the photograph, which felt strangely heavy now. He stepped over to hang it back on the wall, placing it carefully back onto its hook. He checked that it was straight, brushing the cold glass with his fingers. The woman stared back at him. Her narrow eyes were disapproving.

“And what a lot of help she was,” Mr. Graves said. “Well, at least we have a lead now-- the guy had Scamander’s _sad eyes_ . I’m sure we can do something with thatinformation.”

Tina shifted her weight from foot to foot, thoughtful. Newt could feel the tension in the air. He tugged the sleeve of his coat. What had he gotten himself into? This was a real murder investigation, and even if it was a creature-- supposedly his ‘area of expertise’-- the more he saw, the more he knew that there wasn’t really anything he could do.

"I’m going to go check the bedroom again,” Tina said. "Maybe he left something behind, wrote something down..."

“Once you’re done we’ll head back to MACUSA to file a report,” Mr. Graves said, “and then we’ll figure out our next course of action.” He opened the drawer to the table in the entrance hall, peeked in, then shut it when he saw that it was empty. He looked over the apartment again, expression shrewd, as Tina disappeared and Newt realized that they were alone.

He swallowed. He had wanted to apologize, and now was as good a time as any. But Newt had never been one for confrontations of any kind. He wished that he had Pickett with him to provide some comfort, but he had left him with Queenie for the day for safety. The bowtruckle had protested so much it nearly hadn’t been worth it, and now Newt decided selfishly that he would let Pickett come on these investigations, if only for the moral support.

"Mr. Graves,” he said when Mr. Graves made no sign of acknowledging him.

“What, Scamander?”

Newt didn’t let the sharp tone deter him. “I’d like to apologize for last night,” he said softly, aware that Tina could return at any moment. “My behavior was uncalled for.”

Mr. Graves turned away from him, wandering back into the living room. Although the front of his coat had been pressed neatly, the back was wrinkled and creased, as though no one had told him that his outfit wasn’t ironed correctly. This realization felt too intimate to Newt, who dropped his eyes and waited for his response.

“I appreciate that,” Mr. Graves said after a moment. “I suppose that I, too, spoke… out of turn. I… apologize.” He sounded like a niffler did when someone tried to pry a piece of gold away from it, like every word, every motion, hurt. Newt couldn’t help a small smile.

“I’d like you to know,” he said, still quiet, “that I _am_ doing everything I can for this case, and I will continue to do just that. I can’t promise you that I will provide anything useful. But I will promise you that I will try.”

Mr. Graves turned his head a fraction. The blinds were partially drawn over the window, and the sunlight touched the sharp curves of his cheekbones in fractured lines. “I suppose that’s all we can ask,” he said.

Newt bit his top lip, blinking hard at Mr. Graves’ shoulder. “Thank you,” he said. “I, uh… just thought I’d clear things up a bit.”

“Nothing.” Tina walked back into the room, lips puckered in annoyance. “Alright, we’ve completely searched this place. We should head back to MACUSA.” She stopped and looked at them. “Is everything alright?”

“Fine,” Mr. Graves said, and his voice sounded odd, a shade gruffer than before. He cleared his throat and he was back to normal so quickly Newt was sure he had imagined it. “I’ll meet you in my office,” he said, turning. His expression was back to its usual half grimace, half glare. “We have no further use of Mr. Scamander for the day. See him home and then return.” He strode away without looking at either of them, coat flapping against the back of his legs, and yanked the door open. He slammed it shut behind him.

“Drama queen,” Tina muttered. She picked her hat up off of the coffee table and jammed it firmly back onto her head. “Alright, Newt, let’s get you home.”

Newt had to force himself to lift his feet, to follow her out of the apartment. “Right,” he said, even as the sound of Mr. Graves slamming the door shut rang in his ears.

XXXXX

A hot mug of tea impeded his vision, set so close to his wrist he could feel the heat emanating from it. He glanced at it and then up to Queenie. It was nearing evening, and without any plans to go out, she had taken her makeup off. Her concerned smile looked smaller without her usual lipstick.

“Oh,” he said, “thank you.”

“You’ve been working all afternoon, honey,” Queenie said, “why don’t you take a break?”

“I’m just trying to get through this book.” Newt frowned down at the writing. The cramped font was starting to give him a headache. “I thought it might be the Barbear-- it’s a land animal that’s been known to attack humans in the past-- but they’ve been extinct since 1829.”

“Take a break,” Queenie said again. Her smile widened. “I know I’m not the baker around here, but I thought I’d make some chocolate chip cookies, just as a little treat. They’re Teeny’s favorite, she’ll be glad when she gets home.”

“That sounds great,” Newt said, mind already back on his book. It was an old one, and fragments of the worn yellow pages had been lost to time. It made for extremely difficult reading.

Queenie sighed. “You haven’t even eaten anything all day,” she said. She reached out and pushed a hair behind Newt’s ear. He stiffened at the sudden contact, fingers tightening on the book. “This was meant to be a fun visit, and we’ve got you holed up investigating a murder.”

“It’s interesting,” Newt said, completely still as Queenie ran her fingers through his hair. Her movements were absent minded, distracted, and he wasn’t sure she knew that she was doing it. Newt had often seen her doing this very thing to Tina, but he didn’t quite know how to deal with it himself.

Queenie laughed, moving her fingers again down his scalp. They came to a rest at the base of his neck and started rubbing small circles, slow and gentle. “You’re a strange man.”

“I know,” Newt murmured, his eyes slipping shut of their own accord. The light touch sent prickles down his spine, and when Queenie moved to scratch behind his ear Newt made a small sound he felt immediately embarrassed of. He knew as well as anyone the power that touch could have; he had used it as medication for countless creatures, and he couldn’t deny that the innocent and well intentioned human contact was sending thrums of relaxation through him. He was often so isolated on his expeditions that he could go weeks without even seeing another human being, let alone touching one.

“I know,” Queenie said, her voice quiet, still running gentle fingers through his curls. “You really should do something about that, Newt. You can’t be alone forever.”

“I’m not meant to settle down, Queenie,” Newt said, sighing as she brushed from the crown of his head to the nape of his neck. “It’s not in my job description.”

Queenie laughed. “Well, you’ll just have to find someone who can fit into that description as well, won’t you?” Queenie asked. “She’s out there.” After a moment, she said, “Oh, I’m sorry. _They’re_ out there.”

Newt opened his eyes, breath catching in his throat. “Queenie--”

“Shh, it’s alright,” she said. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to read that thought.” They were silent for a moment. Newt felt suddenly uneasy under her touch, and she immediately pulled away. She clasped her hands together and looked at him, biting down on her bottom lip in worry. “Newt.” She hesitated before dropping into the seat across from him. She leaned forward in her earnest, curls falling to frame her face. “You know I don’t mind. None of us would mind at all, as long as you were happy.”

Newt stared into his lap, knowing it would be useless to pretend he didn’t know what she was talking about. Shame rose in his throat, familiar and painful. “It’s okay,” he said, “I’ll never act on it.”

“No, Newt!” Queenie’s hand twitched like she was about to reach out for him but then thought better. “Newt,” she started again, “you can’t let fear hold you back. I was terrified of trying to be with Jacob again, and look at us now!”

“I’m not afraid,” Newt said, refusing to meet her eyes. “I just… well, I’m not the most _attractive_ of men, and I don’t mean in the purely physical sense. My lifestyle, my personality… I’m just not suited for… anything. Anything of that sort.”

“Oh, but you’re so wrong.” Queenie edged closer onto the edge of her seat, gaze imploring. “Newt, any man-- any _person_ \-- would be lucky to have you. You’re kind, and intelligent, and… I know there’s someone out there for you, I know it. And you’re going to find them.”

Newt smiled awkwardly at her arm. “Thank you, Queenie,” he murmured.

Queenie might have continued speaking if the door hadn’t burst open. Tina strode in, shaking off rain. Newt looked out the dark, water-streaked window. Dear Merlin, he really had been working all afternoon, hadn’t he? “Oh, blast it,” she said, “this was a brand new coat.” She pulled off her hat and tossed it aside. Queenie waved her hand before it hit the ground and sent it fluttering to dry near the hearth.

“You’re back early,” she said, voice as chipper as always, rising to take Tina’s coat

“Thanks.” Tina shrugged out of it. “Graves had some paperwork he needed to do,” she said. “I’ve just sort of been loitering in his office for the past two hours anyways. You didn’t miss anything, Newt.”

“Except for another one of that man’s sour moods.” Queenie frowned at Tina. “Did he really shout at the receptionist?”

“You’re doing it again, Queenie.”

“Oh, you know I can’t help it.”

“Mr. Graves is under a lot of stress.” Tina’s words were delicate. She wandered over to the kitchen, hair damp, and peeked into the bread box. “He was in a meeting with Picquery when I got there. I’m pretty sure she chewed him out.”

“It still doesn’t give him an excuse to bluster about taking his anger out on other people,” Queenie said. When Tina reached into the box she said sharply, “You’ll ruin your dinner, Tina.”

“I’m starved,” Tina complained, ripping off a piece of bread from the half-finished loaf. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen Mr. Graves eat. He didn’t even _mention_ a lunch break.”

"Perhaps he’s a vampire,” Newt said, eyes back on his book, lips forced up into a small smile. He could feel Queenie’s eyes on him and tried to ignore it.

“I think you’ve cracked it,” Tina said through a mouthful of crust, pointing at him. “And the reason he’s so angry at the world is because he has to go out when it’s sunny.”

“It wasn't very sunny today,” Queenie pointed out.

“Perhaps someone offered him garlic bread,” Newt said, and they both laughed.

“Oh, you two are awful,” Queenie said, flicking her wand at a cupboard. It opened with a pop and her apron fluttered out, flapping its strings to direct itself towards her. She raised her arms to let it slip over her head.

“I thought you didn’t like him?” Tina asked, grinning at her sister.

“I don’t,” Queenie said, “but you definitely aren’t going to win any favors by calling him a _vampire_.”

“What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him,” Tina said. She watched as Queenie started floating ingredients out of the ice box. “What are you making us?”

“Lasagna,” Queenie said. “I figured you could both use some comfort food. I invited Jacob over as well; the shop closes at five, so he’ll be over then.”

“I have to wait that long?” Tina complained. Queenie jabbed her wand at her and a carrot spun off the counter, whacking Tina on the back of the head. Queenie caught it in one hand while Tina winced, reaching up to grab her abused head. “Ow, Queenie!”

“My hand slipped,” Queenie said with a sweet smile.

Newt ran his fingers over the spidery ink in his book. The letters were swimming in front of his eyes, and he didn’t think he’d be able to get anymore work done tonight, so he closed it and let the sound of bickering sisters and the _pop pop pop_ of the gas stove igniting wash over him. Outside, the rain pounded on the windows, dark and cold, but inside, the apartment was warm and bursting with light and full of people. Despite the unsettling conversation Newt had just had, he felt himself relaxing into the atmosphere, laughing along when Tina tried to overturn the salad bowl on Queenie’s head in revenge and only succeeded in splattering herself with tomato sauce. But a thought pressed against the back of his mind, nothing more than a niggling curiosity-- how was Mr. Graves spending this cold night? Newt hoped that he wasn't at the office, holed up in an empty department with just paperwork, but something told him that that’s exactly where he was.

Newt drew himself out of his thoughts and tried to push it to the back of his mind, smiling as Queenie twirled, apron fanning out around her knees. How Mr. Graves spent his time was none of his business, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sure it isn't, Newt. Keep telling yourself that. 
> 
> This chapter was a little bit longer to make up for the time it took to get it up. I had to rework and edit this one quite a bit, and with finals coming up this week I've been a little pressed for time. But I hope you enjoyed!
> 
> Thank you all so much for the comments and kudos! I really really appreciate them. If you have any thoughts or questions please leave them below. Have an amazing morning, afternoon, night, or other miscellaneous time of day.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Is that the suitcase, then?” 
> 
> “What?” Scamander looked down at it, as though just realizing he had it. “Oh. Yes.”
> 
> “Do you always carry it around like a security blanket?”

_Fora Ante_

**Percival**

Sometimes Percival wished he had done what his mother had wanted for him. He wished he had settled for a nice desk job in Wand Regulation, or perhaps Magical Financial Aid, where they did nothing but dull paperwork all day. Percival bet the only stress _they_ had was when the copying machine got jammed-- not a murder investigation that refused to be solved.

He rubbed his temples and closed his eyes. An unfinished report sat in front of him, pen discarded beside it, while Picquery wore a hole in his carpet with her pacing. Complaints poured from her mouth like a broken faucet.

“It’s been a week, Percival,” she said, turning sharply on her heel to glare at him.

“Actually, it’s been four days.”

“Don’t.” Her voice carried a heavy warning. “The people are going ballistic. Two bodies turn up within days of each other under mysterious circumstances, and the most their President can do is tell them that the government is _working on it_. Tell me, Graves, _is_ the government working on it?”

Percival could feel a headache building up. He would kill for a drink. “Yes,” he said, biting his tongue when his temper threatened to tack on a more scathing comment.

“Well, you could have had me fooled.”

“Seraphina, you know I’m working on this. Goldstein and I--”

“Goldstein.” Picquery said the name with venom. “Perhaps if I had assigned a more senior auror to this case, we would actually be somewhere by now.”

Graves opened his eyes to frown at her. She had just come out of a meeting with her advisors, and she was frazzled in a way that she only allowed herself to be behind closed doors. He bore it because he was used to it, and because Picquery always let him storm and rage at her when he needed to. They understood the other’s need to blow off steam out of the public eye. He would not, however, allow Picquery to take shots at Goldstein when she wasn’t here to defend herself.

“Goldstein is an exemplary auror and partner,” he said. “It is most certainly not her fault, and you know it.”

Picquery’s nostrils flared, but she didn’t say anything. Clasping her hands behind her back, she strode to the window, lifting her chin to gaze out. The auror department was on one of the top floors of MACUSA, and the view from Graves’s office was wonderful. Below, the busy streets were filled with cars and pedestrians going about their lives, unaware of the magical crisis happening right over their heads. What a simple life No-Majs must lead.

“Mr. Scamander doesn’t know what it is yet?”

Percival took advantage of the President’s turned back to roll his eyes in exasperation. “I’m afraid he hasn’t much to work with, Madame,” he said, voice carefully calm. “It is no more his fault than it is Goldstein’s. If anything, I’m the one who--”

“Oh, I already blame you, Percival, no need to worry about that.” Picquery pinched the bridge of her nose. The sunlight glinted off of her gold earrings. “If it was just the murders, it might be quieter, but this bizarre pattern has frightened everyone. People disappear for a few weeks and then their body shows up in a ditch. We can’t even tell the people what they should be looking out for, let alone how to protect themselves, and they’re only going to get more paranoid if we don’t tell them anything. But we have nothing to say, nothing to reassure them with.”

“Tell them that we are putting our best efforts into this investigation.”

“Efforts aren’t enough, Graves, not when they don’t yield results.” Picquery turned back towards him, dark eyes narrowed. “I don’t need to remind you that your situation is still precarious.”

“I know,” Graves murmured. He knew what the higher powers thought of him: if he couldn’t fix this in a timely manner, his position as the Director of Magical Security would be handed to someone else, someone who _hadn’t_ gotten themselves kidnapped by Grindelwald. It was just like everything in his life now. Perhaps he would be eligible for a raise… _if_ he hadn’t been kidnapped. Perhaps the public would actually trust him to do his job… _if he he hadn’t been kidnapped._

He needed to clear this mess up, and quickly.

“I don’t enjoy putting you in this position, Percival.” Some of the anger had left her voice now. Percival hoped it had run its course. He was already exhausted, and being yelled at was doing nothing to help.

“I know,” he said.

“We’re stuck between a basilisk and a hard place.” Picquery tugged on her bottom lip, staring across the room. Her brow furrowed thoughtfully. “God, this is a mess.”

“I’ll take care of it.”

“Damn right you’ll take care of it.” Ah, so the anger wasn’t quite gone yet. Graves sighed. “You’ll take care of it because it is your _job_ and if you don’t get me some answers you are going to be _fired,_ Graves! And do you want to know what will happen when you get fired? You’ll-- what?” she barked when a tentative knock on the door interrupted her.

After a moment it creaked open. Percival groaned and tilted his head back as Goldstein poked her head in, hesitance scrawled across her features. He stared up at the ceiling. He was definitely getting a headache, and he was going to name it Seraphina. Lovely name for a migraine.

“Ms. Goldstein.” Picquery’s voice was calm and collected once more, as though she hadn’t just been shouting threats. “Mr. Scamander.”

Percival blinked and brought his head back down to see a familiar head of curls tucked behind Goldstein. When she pushed the door open a little more his thin, awkward smile popped into view.

“Madame President,” Goldstein said. “We’re sorry, we just wanted to speak with Mr. Graves. If we’re interrupting anything…”

“Not at all. I was just leaving.” Picquery pursed her lips and turned to Percival. He met her gaze, eyebrows raised coolly. Her nose twitched at his impertinence. “Remember what I said, Percival,” she said, “and get on it.”

Her heels clicked threateningly as she stalked away. Goldstein and Scamander pressed themselves against the doorway to let her through, murmuring goodbyes that went ignored.

“Come in,” Percival said, sighing as he got to his feet. He had been sitting all morning, and his knees popped when he moved. “I suppose you’ve heard?”

“There’s another body.” Goldstein waited until Scamander shuffled in before shutting the door. The buttons on her shirt had been done up wrong and her short hair was a mess, but she was here, and in good time, too. Percival admired fast response.

“Yes,” he said. “They found Mr. Simmons floating facedown in a lake in Central Park early this morning. His body is currently being examined, but it bears the same bite and other physical symptoms as the first body. Whatever creature is doing this has struck again.” He pulled his wand out of his pocket. “Coffee?”

“Please.” Goldstein huffed and collapsed into the hardbacked chair in front of Percival’s desk, slumping down and letting her arms hang loosely over the sides. She looked as exhausted as Percival felt.

“Mr. Scamander?”

“What?” The man blinked like he was surprised at being spoken to. “Oh. Uh, yes. Thank you.”

Percival flicked his wand and the coffee machine in the corner of the room came to life. That thing was the best investment he had ever made. He wouldn’t have a job right now if it hadn’t been there to get him through dozens of sleepless nights.

He twirled his wand between his fingers and took a moment to appraise Scamander. He looked more put together than Goldstein, but his hair was even messier than usual and his darting eyes were shot with red from lack of sleep. He didn’t appear to know what to do with himself. While Goldstein made herself at home without invitation, Scamander stood in the center of the room, shoulders hunched, wringing his hands nervously. Percival didn’t think Scamander was ever still. He was always moving, always fiddling with something, always holding himself like someone was about to scold him.

“I don’t suppose you’ve had some breakthrough in the past twenty-four hours?” Percival asked him.

Scamander, as usual, didn’t look at him when he responded. “No.”

Percival sighed. “Pity,” he said as the light on the coffee pot flicked on, indicating readiness. “Sugar?”

“Just cream for me,” Goldstein said as Percival fetched three mugs from the cupboard. He waved a hand and let the coffee pot fill each of them, looking over his shoulder at Scamander.

“Um,” Scamander said. _So many filler words._ “Yes, please. Sugar, I mean.”

Percival poured a splash of cream in his and Goldstein’s cups, then hesitated over the last. Scamander was an Englishman, and they quite notoriously couldn’t stand the bitter taste of coffee. He frowned, thinking of Scamander’s soft words and quiet smiles, and poured a generous helping of cream and sugar in, stirring it until it was shades paler than the other two. It was nothing he would be able to stomach, but he figured Scamander would enjoy it.

“Here.” He levitated Goldstein’s mug to her as he walked over Scamander’s. Goldstein snatched it eagerly out of the air and took a sip even though it was still piping hot. She moaned, letting her eyes slip shut.

“God,” she said. “I needed that.”

Percival offered Scamander his mug handle first. He blinked a few times at it before reaching out to take it. “Thank you,” he said.

Percival inclined his head once before turning to retrieve his own mug. It warmed his hands, hot enough to prickle. He turned and pressed his lower back against the table the coffee pot stood on, lifting the mug to his lips and watching Scamander over the rim. The other man was blowing on the drink halfheartedly, gaze wandering around Percival’s office. After a moment he took a distracted sip and his eyebrows darted upward in surprise.

“Oh,” he said. He looked at Percival, making direct eye contact for the-- what, fourth time since Percival had known him? The shock of blue-green always gave Percival a start. It was easy to forget the intensity of Scamander’s eyes when he so often kept them hidden. “This is lovely.”

“Newt Scamander liking a cup of coffee? The apocalypse is truly upon us,” Goldstein said. The drink seemed to be perking her up. She straightened in her seat, crossing her legs and taking another long sip. She had already drained half the cup.

A faint flush rose in Scamander’s cheeks and he ducked his head to hide it. Percival watched him. For someone so reserved, his pleasant surprise was a visceral reaction, as though the semi-decent cup of coffee was the nicest thing he had ever been offered. Percival had never met someone so easily and genuinely pleased.

“Okay.” Goldstein set down her empty mug on Percival’s desk, swiping the back of her mouth with her wrist. “So. Simmons is dead three days after Forecoster. He has all the same physical injuries, the bite, the white eyes, etcetera, etcetera. He was found in a lake in the middle of Central Park. Is that all we know?”

“Well, we also know that most of the magical community is starting to panic, but I don’t think that will help us any.”

“No, but it definitely adds to the pressure,” Goldstein said. “How do they even know? I thought we were keeping this quiet.”

“We were,” Percival said dryly, “but I’m afraid the location of the body was quite public. We obliviated the No-Majs, of course, but the _Ghost_ got ahold of the story. It headlined this morning.”

“Well, there’s much to be said about their quick turnaround.” Goldstein sighed. “Crap.”

“Mr. Scamander,” Percival said, “do you have any ideas?”

Scamander looked up from where he had been intently enjoying his coffee. He was still standing alone in the center of the room, bright jacket hanging off of his bony shoulders. He glanced briefly at Percival before directing his words to Goldstein.

“Nothing definite,” he said. “I’ve compared the bite marks to every other one I have on record, and while I found a few promising matches, the other symptoms just don’t fit. I can’t find anything that would account for the white eyes. The Draconis Anculubni has a venom that attacks melanin, causing something akin to albinism in its victims, but that’s much too extreme for what we’re dealing with. Then there’s the Draconis Lugubriotis. It’s from the same family as the Anculubni, but the Lugubriotis’s poison is sort of ecto-parasitical. It sticks onto the skin, poisoning the prey slowly over a period of time. It even causes blindness meant to weaken the victim, so I thought… but then, it wouldn’t have needed a bite to administer its venom.”

Percival blinked. He wasn’t used to not understanding things, but he had to admit that most of what Scamander had just said had gone right over his head. Never had Scamander talked for longer than a few seconds, and never had he used so many sentences at once. It threw Percival off.

“Alright,” he said, trying valiantly to act like he knew what Scamander was talking about. “So the dragons are out?”

“Draconis,” Scamander corrected. “It’s a family of reptiles. All of them are extremely poisonous, and large enough to drag a human short distances.”

“But they don’t kidnap those humans for weeks and then dump their bodies in the middle of Central Park, do they?” Goldstein asked.

“Well, no,” Scamander admitted. Then he brightened again, as if someone had flipped a switch behind his smile. “But both bodies were found in the morning and were killed only hours before, meaning that the creature operates at night. Now that I can add nocturnal to my list of characteristics it might help me narrow things down.”

“Wonderful,” Percival said. He tapped his finger against the side of his mug. “Now all we have to do is try and quell the looming mass panic.”

“I’m sure Picquery can handle that,” Goldstein said. “She’s amazing with the public.”

“She’ll want one of us to appear with her and assure the people that our team is handling it,” Percival said. At Goldstein’s horrified expression he rolled his eyes and said, “Don’t worry, Goldstein, I’ll do it.”

Goldstein tried to hide her relief. “Ah, well, if you insist,” she said dismissively.

A sharp knock sounded on the door, drawing their attention. Percival set down his coffee and straightened in case it was someone important looking for him. “Come in.”

The door opened and Bentridge, a relatively recent appointment to the auror office, poked her head in. Her dark skin shone with sweat in the lamplight. “Mr. Graves,” she panted. “I was wondering if you knew where-- Tina! There you are, we need you down in the cells. Lakes was taking this group of kids he nabbed trying to hex some No-Majs to the cells and they got loose, so now they’re running rampant, and-- it’s alright, Sir, we’ve got it!” she said hurriedly when Percival took a step forward, hand dropping to his wand. “We just need all hands on deck. Tina, could you--?”

“Coming.” Goldstein stood. Percival wondered if he should warn her that her shirt wasn’t on properly, but she was already moving towards the door with purpose. He shrugged to himself. She could handle it. “I’ll be done soon, Newt, just hang out here until I get back.”

“But--” Scamander started, but Goldstein had already slammed the door behind her. Percival winced at the sharp noise. He would have to have a word with her about that. Slamming doors was unacceptable unless he was the one doing it.

“Lakes is a complete idiot,” Percival announced, picking up his coffee again. “I ought to demote him.”

Scamander was still standing in the middle of the room, staring at the door. Without Goldstein he looked even more like a lost puppy than usual. Percival was tempted to leave him there, but his conscience-- his very, very small conscience-- took pity on the magizoologist, who would most likely remain right there unless told where to go.

“Have a seat, Mr. Scamander,” Percival said, waving his hand at the chair Goldstein had just vacated as he sat down in his own, mug in hand.

“Um.” Scamander made no attempt to move. He stared carefully at Percival’s desk. “Mr. Graves, I can step outside and wait in the atrium, it’s really no--”

“Not to worry, those clowns will have this sorted out in five minutes,” Percival said. “If they don’t I might as well disband the auror department.” When Scamander still didn’t move, Percival frowned at him. “For god’s sake, Scamander, do you have a fear of chairs?”

Scamander’s eyes widened and he scurried forward, clutching his mug to his chest. He sat down, heavy coat flapping against the legs of the chair.

“Thank you,” he murmured.

Percival just grunted. He picked up his pen again and went back to his report, determined to knock out another paragraph before Goldstein returned. It was what he had been working on before he had been assigned this nightmare of a murder case, and he wished he could return to the simple smuggling ring he had been investigating.

“You played Quidditch.” Percival looked up, pen poised over the paper, to see Scamander staring at something over Percival’s shoulder. He turned to follow his gaze.

“Yes,” Percival said. He had nearly forgotten he had tucked that plaque away on his shelf. The metal was engraved with the names of his teammates in fancy, curlicue script. “I played for Wampus house in school. I was Keeper.”

“Oh,” Scamander said. Percival expected him to say something else, but when he turned back around Scamander was already looking away. Percival clenched his jaw. Scamander had absolutely no social graces-- that much was obvious-- but it annoyed Percival how quickly he dropped conversations, especially when it was one of the first _pleasant_ ones the two of them had ever had.

“Did you play?” Percival hid a smirk when Scamander’s eyes darted back to him, surprised.

“What?”

“Quidditch,” Percival said. He set down his pen and leaned back in his seat, crossing his arms. “Did you play?”

“Oh, no.” Scamander’s lips twitched, less out of amusement and more for want of something to do with them. “I wasn’t very sporty in school. But my brother played for Gryffindor and I would help him practice during the summer. He was a Keeper, so I always ended up as Chaser, but I’m afraid I wasn’t very good.”

Percival cocked his head and looked Scamander over, taking in his thin frame. “I would have had you pegged for a Seeker.”

Scamander ducked his head. “I’m rubbish on a broomstick,” he admitted. He bit his bottom lip. “I have rehabilitated several Snidgets, though. Did you know they were the original Golden Snitches?”

“I’ve heard stories,” Percival said.

“It was quite barbaric,” Scamander said. “The Hunter-- later called the Seeker-- had to kill the Snidget to end the game. They used to be quite common, but after they started being used for sport their numbers dropped drastically. Now they’re protected, of course, but you’ve still got factions of Quidditch purists who use them illegally in their games. I rescued a whole flock of them from a family down in Wales.”

Percival frowned. “That’s awful.”

“Oh, it was.” Scamander nodded earnestly. “The poor things were all bruised and battered. It took me weeks to get them to trust me. I couldn’t heal them that first day because as soon as I let them go in my case they took off. And, like I said, I’m rubbish on a broomstick.” Scamander chuckled, a genuine laugh that Percival had never heard from him.

It was remarkable watching him open up like this. Every other interaction Percival had had with him had been tight, nervous, controlled. He had seen parts of this passion when Scamander had talked about creatures before, but it had always been brief flashes, gone so quickly that Percival was certain he had imagined it. Now, though, Scamander had unfolded in his chair and raised his head, and when Percival looked at him he actually made eye contact. Another memory popped into Percival’s head-- Scamander staring him down across the table, mouth set in a determined line as he told Percival off with a streak of blue icing arching above his eyebrows. The situation had been ridiculous at the time, but now Percival looked back on it with grudging admiration. It was rare that someone stood up to him like that.

“Do you have any Snidgets now?” he asked. He wanted to keep Scamander talking like this, and if all it took was a conversation about magical creatures to do so, then Percival could chat about Snidgets all day. Or at least until Goldstein got back. Contrary to popular belief, Percival didn’t necessarily enjoy when people were frightened of him. Respectfully intimidated, yes-- but he always felt awkward when people were as genuinely scared of him as Scamander seemed to be. Not that he didn’t have good reason after Percival’s attitude over the past few days. Percival felt the first coil of guilt curl in his stomach and pushed it down.

“To be quite honest, I’m not sure,” Scamander said. “I released most of them onto a Snidget reservation, but they’re so quick it’s possible that a few of them are still hiding in my suitcase. I’ve suspected that something is stealing food from the Mooncalves for quite a while.”

Percival raised his eyebrows. He had read the description on Scamander’s suitcase, but was it really so big that he could lose entire animals in it?

“Perhaps you should hire a Seeker to go in and find them,” Percival said.

Scamander laughed. “If you have any player recommendations,” he said, “I can promise them some good practice.”

He caught Percival’s eye, a genuine smile lighting up his face. A split second later, though, it dropped, and he looked down to his lap, curling back in on himself.

Percival frowned. Had he done something wrong?

“Your brother,” he said, searching for a topic that wouldn’t make Scamander uncomfortable. “That would be Theseus Scamander, correct? Auror?”

“Yes,” Scamander said, but what Percival thought was a safe conversation instead made Scamander’s voice lose the strength it had when discussing his creatures. He went back to fumbling softly for his words.

Percival remembered Theseus Scamander. It was hard to forget someone like that, even if the conversation Percival had had with him on wand techniques had been short and unmemorable. At first glance the two brothers looked alike, with gangly figures and hair that looked as though they had just walked out of a fight. But Theseus’s proud posture and loud personality turned heads in a crowd, while Scamander always looked as though he was trying to disappear into one, trying to blend in with the people around him even though he never quite fit in. Percival hadn’t thought it possible for two siblings to be such antipodes of each other.

Right now, though, he was just grateful that he had some basis for a conversation topic.

“I met him once,” Percival said, “at a conference. We had a lovely conversation. It’s astounding how different you are.”

“Yes,” Scamander said, shifting in his seat, “I’ve heard that.”

There was a beat of silence, and then Percival realized what he had said, and how it might have been interpreted. “Oh,” he said, “I didn’t mean-- I only meant to say that he’s quite-- and you’re very-- I mean, it’s not that you’re not pleasant as well, you’re actually--” He stopped when he realized Scamander was staring at him. He cleared his throat and scowled. “Your brother worked wonders during the war. You should be proud of him.”

“I am,” Scamander said, and Percival knew that he meant it.

Another awkward silence settled over them, and this time Percival didn’t try and stop it. He picked up his pen again and bent down, scribbling intently without really thinking. He knew that every word he wrote was further ruining his report, but it was easier to focus on that than Scamander. Even when Percival was actually trying to be nice he couldn’t hold a successful conversation with the man. It was like Scamander was intent on making Percival’s life difficult. He remembered Picquery’s words: “You don’t understand the certain element of… chaos he brings with him.”

If Percival hadn’t understood before, he was starting to.

For a few moments the only sound was Percival scratching away at his paper. Then Scamander said, “That’s my book.”

Percival paused and looked up. Scamander was looking at the pile on Percival’s desk, a stack of handbooks and reports that Percival had yet to go through. Towards the top, the bright green binding stuck out like a sore thumb. An unfamiliar heat crawled up Percival’s neck.

“Yes,” he said, “President Picquery gave it to me.”

“Ah,” Scamander said. Two spots of red appeared in his cheeks, shining bright underneath the freckles.

Percival twisted the pen in his fingers, unable to look at Scamander. “It’s very good.”

“Oh?”

“Yes,” he said. “Congratulations.”

“Thank you.”

“I don’t know much about magical creatures.”

“Well,” Scamander said. “I hope it teaches you something.”

“I’m sure it will.”

Silence again. They sat there, desk between them, neither looking at the other. Percival felt like he should say something, perhaps discuss more of Scamander’s book, but his mind was drawing a blank. What was wrong with him today? Perhaps the stress of it all was starting to get to him, and he really _should_ take a break.

The door opened again. “Goodness,” Goldstein said as she walked in. Her shirt was buttoned properly now, but she looked even more exhausted than before. “I’m sorry I was gone that long. They took refuge in the mailroom, and it had to go through every single crate looking for them. They’re in the cells now.”

“Good,” Percival said, trying to inject some authority back into his voice and shake off his… well, whatever that had just been. “Now, President Picquery is planning on speaking to the people this evening, so I should--” He stopped, gaze catching Scamander’s book once more. The golden title embossed on the spine glinted in the light: _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them, by Newt Scamander_.

“Graves?” Goldstein asked when he made no move to keep speaking.

“I have an idea,” Percival said, more to himself than anyone else. He turned to Scamander, who stared back at him with big blue eyes. God, they were bright. Percival wished Scamander would look at him more. “Mr. Scamander,” he said, “how do you feel about public speaking?”

XXXXX

“This is the worst thing we have ever done.” Goldstein’s whispers were sharp in his ears. Percival leaned slightly away, keeping his attention fixed on Picquery.

“You know very well that we’ve done much worse things,” Percival murmured. “Now shut up and pay attention.”

“I assure you that we are doing everything within our power to get to the bottom of this,” Picquery said. Cameras clicked and flashed from the crowd of reporters assembled in front of her. Charmed notepads hovering amongst them took furious notes.

“Do you have any suspects?” piped up a voice from the back of the crowd.

Picquery gazed in the direction of it. She was dressed in a glitzy black dress that pooled around pointy red heels, expression calm and assured. Her public persona was on and ready to keep the peace. “No,” she said, “because we do not believe the perpetrator is a human. We believe,” she said, raising her voice over the sudden chatter, “that whatever is doing this is a magical creature. We have therefore hired the assistance of Mr. Scamander, author of the bestselling book _Fantastic Beasts and Where To Find Them_. Mr. Scamander is consulting on this case, and with his efforts we hope to locate whatever creature is doing this before anyone else gets hurt.”

The room exploded. Percival winced. They were in the main conference room, and he and Goldstein had taken seats high above the heads of the reporters to watch. Picquery stood on a raised platform in front of the crowd, and a few steps behind her Scamander was attempting to shrink into the background. Percival could see his panicked expression from here and another set of doubts seized him. It had seemed a good idea at the time, but now that Scamander was really up there… He could hardly hold a conversation with _one_ person. How was he going to handle dozens of them?

Beside him, Goldstein groaned. “Queenie is going to have my head,” she muttered.

“Mr. Scamander!” shouted a voice from the crowd. A tiny wizard was hopping up and down, waving his pen wildly in the air. His hat popped off his head with every jump, settling back at different angles every time he came back down. “Mr. Scamander, do you have any idea what this creature might be?”

Scamander shifted. Percival watched him look at Picquery for guidance, but when she said nothing he turned back to the crowd. He was coiled as tightly as possible, hands clenched behind his back, heels pressed together. “Well,” he said, his voice so soft Percival could hardly hear him, “I have a few ideas. It’s a little tricky, but I’m, uh, sure that with more research we’ll find something.”

“Mr. Scamander!” A witch with long red hair stepped forward. A camera flashed next to her and Percival saw Scamander flinch. “What kind of creature holds hostages for weeks before killing them?”

“There’s any number of animals that hold prey captive,” Scamander said. “Acromantula, for example, tend to--”

“Mr. Scamander, wasn’t it you who unleashed a number of creatures on New York just last year?”

Scamander hesitated. “That was an accident,” he said, and Percival groaned as the press lit up again.

“We need to get him out of there,” Goldstein said, gripping the arm of her chair.

“No,” Percival murmured. “He’s got this.”

“Is it possible that it’s one of _your_ creatures?”

“No.” Scamander’s voice was stronger now. _There_ was that defensiveness he had shown Percival in the No-Maj’s bakery. _Use it_ , Percival urged him. “All of my animals are accounted for, and I can assure you that none of the creatures in my possession are dangerous. Whatever is doing this is probably scared, or trapped--”

“Are you sympathizing with the murderer, Mr. Scamander?”

“Of course not! I’m only trying to--”

“Are there going to be anymore disappearances?”

“I hope not, but--”

“How do you feel about your book coming out on top of _Quidditch Through The Ages_ in _Witch Weekly’s_ book of the month poll?”

“I-- I hardly think that that--”

“Are you seeing anyone, Mr. Scamander?”

“W-what? I beg your--”

“Aren’t you from London, Mr. Scamander?”

“Well, I grew up in--”

“Mr. Scamander, do you intend to offer your services to every country should they have problems with magical creatures, or just MACUSA?”

“I-- I don’t--”

“Enough.” Picquery silenced the growing frenzy with a single word that sliced through the chatter. The reporters immediately stepped down. Percival breathed a silent sigh of relief. He and Goldstein were on their feet, and Percival knew they had both been prepared to jump in there if necessary. Percival wasn’t about to let Scamander ruin the face of this investigation, after all. “If you would like to ask Mr. Scamander questions about his book, you will have to schedule an interview. Until then, we’re finished here.”

Percival watched with fingers tight on the railing as Picquery whispered something to Scamander, who had been staring out at the crowd, petrified, for the last thirty seconds. When she turned she pressed a hand to his back and guided him off the platform with her, ignoring the shouts of the reporters. They disappeared through a side door.

“Come on,” Percival murmured, turning and striding quickly through the door behind him. Goldstein’s shoes clacked behind him as he walked down the narrow set of stairs that would take them back onto ground floor. He could still hear the dozens of reporters leaving the room, talking amongst themselves in voices that echoed throughout all of MACUSA, but as they turned right and walked further down the hallway they began to fade.

Percival really hated reporters.

“That was awful,” Goldstein panted beside him. “God, Queenie is going to _skin_ me.”

Percival made another sharp right turn. Rows of doors appeared on either side of them, bare and unnumbered. Goldstein’s footsteps faltered beside him, but he continued forward towards the door at the very end. When he reached it he stopped and knocked three times.

“Come in,” called a voice, and he pushed it open.

It was a small, unused conference room with a big circular table dominating most of the space. Every room in this hallway was vacant, an unneeded section of MACUSA that most employees weren’t even aware of. Picquery always used it to decompress after stressful meetings, and Percival had rightly deduced that this was where she had gone today.

“Madame President,” he said, stepping inside.

“Graves.” Picquery arched an eyebrow. “Took you long enough.”

“Newt!” Goldstein pushed past Percival, pulling up short in front of Scamander like she wanted to touch him but was unsure about it. She looked him over, anxiety written all over her face “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” Scamander murmured. His eyes found Percival’s over her shoulder, and for a moment Percival held his gaze. Scamander looked shaken, but he was still standing. “I’m sorry about that.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Scamander, it could have gone much worse.” Picquery waved a dismissive hand. “That’ll have the public off of our backs for a while. Graves, meet me in my office as soon as possible.” She moved to the door and opened it. Before she left she paused. “Nice job out there, Scamander,” she said without looking at him. She was gone before he could respond.

“Newt, are you sure you’re alright?” Goldstein asked, wringing her hands.

“I’m fine, Tina, really,” Scamander said with a half smile. A bit of color had flooded back into his cheeks now. He drew his coat tighter around himself, looking at Percival again. Perhaps holding eye contact didn’t seem quite as scary now after that crowd.

Percival appraised him anew. He hadn’t thought Scamander capable of handling Percival’s suggestion; he knew first hand how difficult it was to handle oneself in front of legions of bloodthirsty reporters. He had thrown Scamander into the ring and the man had come back... _somewhat_ victorious. Despite himself, Percival was impressed.

“Nice work,” Percival said. He knew that he was smiling, and after a moment Scamander hesitantly returned it. “You even got Picquery’s approval. Quite the impossible task.”

“Yes, well, I’m sure that deep down she still hates me,” Scamander said. Percival laughed.

“I should go see what she wants,” he said. He inclined his head to each of them in turn. “I’ll be in contact if I learn anything new.”

“Thank you, sir,” Goldstein said.

“Thank you, Mr. Graves,” Scamander said quietly.

Percival paused with his hand on the door. Without looking back, he said, “You’re welcome,” and left before he could decide who he was responding to.

XXXXX

Percival liked to think he was a decent auror. He figured he could allow himself a small amount of ego in this one aspect of his life; he was, after all, head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, so that sort of made him MACUSA’s Supreme Auror (a term he had coined years ago with Picquery when they had both been very, very drunk).

This case, however, was completely stumping him.

It helped a little that Goldstein was equally confounded. It had been a week since the press conference, and while no new bodies had turned up and no one else had disappeared, they were also no closer to finding whatever was doing it.

They had filled the first few days with visits to each of the disappearance sites, where Scamander had confirmed that it was the same creature based on the magical residue left behind. But aside from that, they had nothing else to go off of. The victims didn’t seem to be linked in any way. The creature left nothing behind but its energy. There were no signs of it anywhere.

Percival had never been so infuriated.

He was back to working on his smuggling ring case in the interim. The leg work was being done by some of the junior aurors, leaving him to take on the directing and strategizing. On Monday he received intelligence that his target, Vincenzo Bianchi, had been spotted in a speakeasy downtown, and on Tuesday he sent out three of his best aurors to make the arrest.

When he was notified that they had the place on lockdown and were just waiting on permission to bring Bianchi back to MACUSA, Percival felt good about his job for the first time that week.

He signed off on the arrest warrant, then laid down his pen. As he watched, the paper folded itself into a crisp airplane, rolling over and over on his desk until it was suitable for flight. It leapt into the air, dipping its sharp nose at him in a tiny bow, and then whirled around and sped away. At the last second the door flew open to allow it passage through, and it went careening out into the auror department.

“Oh!” As the door opened Percival heard a soft shout of surprise. He raised an eyebrow.

“Come in,” he called. He rolled his shoulders to alleviate the stiffness that had settled there, watching his visitor enter. When he saw who it was he straightened up. “Mr. Scamander.”

Scamander shuffled in sheepishly, clutching a beat-up suitcase in both hands. Percival’s gaze fell to it, interest piquing. That had to be the legendary case that had featured so heavily in last year’s reports.

“I’m sorry,” Scamander said, “your, uh, paper gave me a fright.”

“No need to worry. Come in, sit down.”

Scamander, as usual, didn’t take off his coat upon entering. He set the case on the floor by the chair, but kept one hand on it as he sat down.

“How can I help you?” Percival asked. He had no idea why Scamander was here. He hadn’t even seen the man in the last two days; with nothing else to investigate, he suspected that Scamander had gone back to whatever actual business he had in New York. Percival wondered idly what that was. Skulking around looking for stray animals to rescue? Percival could picture him wandering the streets like some magical vigilante.

“I was actually looking for Tina.” Scamander blinked rapidly at Percival’s ink blotter. “Queenie-- um, her sister-- needed to know if she was coming back for dinner, and I wasn’t doing anything, so I thought that I would stop by, and, uh, ask.”

“I sent Ms. Goldstein out to make an arrest,” Percival said, “but she should be back in a few minutes. Can I get you anything to drink?”

“Oh, no, I’m quite alright,” Scamander said, lips quirking up in a polite half-smile.

“Hm.” Percival stood and wandered over to his coffee machine, waving his hand to pour himself a cup. “Is that the suitcase, then?”

“What?” Scamander looked down at it, as though just realizing he had it. “Oh. Yes.”

“Do you always carry it around like a security blanket?”

Scamander’s hand tightened on the handle, and Percival turned his back to hide a grin. He stirred cream into his coffee by hand.  

“I feel best when I have it with me.” Bless his heart, he actually sounded a little indignant. “It makes it easier to stop any emergencies.”

“Like?” Percival turned back and cocked a head at Scamander, raising his cup to his lips. 

Percival was being infuriating, and he knew it. He hadn’t seen Scamander in days, though, and he felt deprived of that flush that rose in Scamander’s cheeks as if by command. Percival enjoyed embarrassing people. It was a sadistic little streak he’d had since childhood, and Scamander was proving to be an excellent target.

Scamander was quiet for a moment. “If one of my creatures were to get hurt, I would want to be close at hand to help.”

Percival stared. He hadn’t expected that.

“Well,” he said, for once at a loss for words. “They’re lucky to have you, then.”

Scamander turned a bright shade of pink. He shifted in his chair, looking uncomfortable. “How long did you say Tina would be?”

Percival opened his mouth to respond, but a sudden pull in his stomach stopped him as the alarm he had laid in the atrium went off. He set down his coffee mug with a sharp bang, startling Scamander. “Come with me,” he said, snatching his coat off his chair as he passed.

Scamander scurried after him as Percival strode through the auror department, shrugging his coat on. All around them his employees talked and worked, small plane memos swooping back and forth over their heads. In one corner Lakes and Eisenhower were throwing balls of paper out of each other, shouting and laughing as they ducked behind their desks for cover. When they saw Percival approaching they froze, guilt creeping into their faces.

“Back to work,” Percival said without looking at them, “or I’ll fire you both.”

He heard them scrambling for their pens as he walked away.

He turned down the hallway that would lead to the atrium, letting the other people walking part for him. Scamander was panting behind him, clutching his case to his chest, stumbling every once in awhile over his own feet. The elevator was open and waiting for them at the end of the corridor.

“Atrium, no stopping,” he barked at the house elf manning the controls. It muttered something to itself and punched the buttons, shutting the doors with a heavy clank.

When they stopped on ground floor Percival pushed through the doors before they had fully opened, striding into the atrium and mounting the stairs that led to the bridge. Scamander kept tight to his heels.

A small group was assembled at the start of the bridge-- three finely dressed aurors and a tiny man who looked bored with life itself.

“Mr. Bianchi,” Percival said, coming to a stop in front of them. The aurors surrounded the him on all sides, wands out and pointed. His hands hung limp, cuffed together with magic at the wrist. “How nice of you to join us.”

“The pleasure is all mine, Mr. Graves.” Bianchi bowed as regally as was possible with three wands pressed to his neck. “Have you redecorated?”

“Most extensively,” Percival said. “I think you’ll especially enjoy the cells.”

“I do hope you’ve redone the flooring, that concrete was dreadful.” His voice was as oily as his hair, and although his mouth was turned up in a smirk, there was anger in his eyes. “Would you mind calling off your dogs here? I’ve nowhere to go now.”

Percival glanced at his aurors. Goldstein was staring at Newt, trying to communicate with her glare. “Wands down,” he ordered. “I’ll escort Bianchi to his cell.”

“Newt,” Goldstein hissed as she dropped her wand and stepped away with the others so Percival could take their place. “What are you doing here?”

A flash of something crossed Bianchi’s face. He lifted his gaze and fixed it over Percival’s shoulder. His expression was inscrutable, but Percival thought he had glimpsed something ugly and violent there.

“Mr. Scamander,” he said, empty amusement curling in his words. “It’s lovely to see you again.”

Percival had to physically stop his jaw from dropping. He turned. Scamander’s face had twisted into an expression Percival had never seen on him before, a hardness that rendered him unrecognizable, and a shiver of something Percival didn’t recognize crept down his spine.

“Vincenzo,” Scamander said, his voice harsher than it had ever been.

“One of MACUSA’s little watchdogs now, are you? I must say, your talents are much better suited elsewhere.”

“What are you in for this time, Vincenzo?”

“Oh, the usual.” Bianchi’s lips twitched wickedly. “What, are your precious feelings hurt that you didn’t even know we were here? If it makes you feel any better, we had no idea you were here, either, or we would have dropped by to say hello.”

“Scamander,” Percival muttered so Bianchi couldn’t hear, “do you want to explain why you are so intimately acquainted with a criminal?”

It was no use. “Scamander and I have a rich history,” Bianchi said, hearing every word. He caught his tongue between sharp teeth as he grinned.

“We most certainly do not,” Scamander snapped. He looked ready to say something else, then stopped. He pushed past Percival, a deep frown twisting his lips, suitcase swinging in hand. Bianchi’s eyes were drawn to it like a cat’s to a mouse, mouth curling with greed.

“Lovely little case you’ve got there, Scamander,” he said. “We can’t wait to get our hands on it, you know.”

“There’s a creature going around killing people.” Scamander stepped so close Percival started forward, hand going to his wand, but Bianchi didn’t make a move to attack. “What do you know about it?”

Bianchi leered forward until his nose was only inches from Scamander’s. “That depends. What kind of deal can MACUSA offer me?”

Scamander narrowed his eyes. “So you _do_ know something.”

“Newt, what is going on?” Goldstein asked, looking back and forth from Bianchi to Scamander.

“This man,” Scamander said without breaking eye contact, “is a highly influential magical beast smuggler. If he’s in America, he and his friends have a plethora of dangerous creatures in tow. If one of them escaped… then perhaps that’s what’s responsible for all of these disappearances.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It may be a slow build up, but I hope this chapter gave your wonderful imaginations something to work with. I promise that their relationship will heat up a lot from here. 
> 
> Also, 50 comments and over 300 kudos?? Wow! Thank you all so so much for being so supportive of this story, it means so much! I appreciate every single one and I love to hear from you!
> 
> I'm posting this in the middle of finals week mostly as stress relief before the behemoth that is math rears its ugly head. If any of you are currently suffering from the same academic epidemic, I hope you can find some temporary solace in this story. Best of luck if you have tests, homework, or just general life stuff going on. I love you all!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Mr. Scamander, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were a Gryffindor,” Graves said. 
> 
> Newt shuffled his feet. “I’m actually a Hufflepuff through and through, sir,” he said, his voice almost a whisper.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Small amount of language in this chapter. Enjoy xxx

_Memoriae_

**Newt**

"Five minutes."

“That man is a convicted criminal, Scamander, you are not getting five minutes _alone_ with him. Do you want to get killed?”

“Isn’t it your job to protect civilians?”

Graves’s expression flattened into a hard glare, and Newt looked nervously away. He glanced through the glass separating them from the interrogation room where Vincenzo Bianchi sat, lounging in his chair as though waiting to be served dinner. His hands were pressed to the arms of his chair, bound by invisible magic, but he made it look like it was his choice.

“You are not a civilian, Scamander, you are a liability.”

“How do you know this guy, Newt?” Tina stood apart from them, distracted enough to be oblivious to the small battle raging between her partners. She was staring into the interrogation room, scrutinizing its occupant. Bianchi, as though sensing her gaze, turned blindly towards the one-way glass and winked. Tina wrinkled her nose.

“It’s complicated,” Newt said. “If you could just give me--”

“We go in there with you, Scamander, or you don’t go in at all.” Graves raised an eyebrow, delivering that cool, deliberating look that made Newt want to sink into the ground and disappear. “Unless you have you something to hide?”

Newt bit the inside of his cheek. “Of course I don’t.”

“Good, then we will be accompanying you in,” Graves said. “Stand aside.”

Newt shifted his weight from foot to foot, staring hard at Mr. Graves’s right hand. He had chosen this spot on purpose, but now, with Mr. Graves’s polished derby shoes edging closer and closer, he was losing his nerve. There was no way he’d be able to stop Graves from doing something he wanted done.

“Um,” Newt said, clutching his suitcase behind his back. Tina had offered to store it in the auror department while they handled this, but he hadn’t been able to bear parting with it. The familiar weight was reassuring, as was his knowledge that every creature was safe and accounted for. Something moved in the breast pocket of his coat-- Pickett could sense the tension hanging in the air. Newt wouldn’t have any backup in that department.

“Mr. Scamander.” Graves’s voice was threatening. “Stand aside.”

“Well,” Newt said, “you see, I would really like just, uh, one word-- no, a few words, preferably-- with Mr. Bianchi, and I-- I--”

He quailed as Graves took another step forward. The toes of his shoes brushed Newt’s, and Newt swallowed and turned his head, trying to hide his fluttering nerves. He could feel the scowl on the auror’s face, sense the phantom weight of his nearness pressing in on Newt’s chest, smell the bitter coffee and tobacco on his breath-- did Graves smoke?

“Mr. Scamander, I think you forget that you are just a consultant on this case.” Graves didn’t have to raise his voice when he was this close. “If you continue to impede my job, I will make that title go away.”

Newt wished he could hold his ground, but the overwhelming stimuli and his general fear of Mr. Graves made him step away, eyes lowered.

Graves snorted and reached out to turn the doorknob. “Don’t do anything stupid,” he said as he pushed open the door and strode inside.

As Tina followed him, she touched Newt’s elbow reassuringly. “Asshole,” she muttered, eyes on Graves.

Newt was the last to shuffle in. He closed the door behind him, eyes on his feet. Tina had positioned herself near the door, arms crossed, and Newt took his place awkwardly beside her.

“Bianchi,” Graves said with a glare, “you know why you’re here. We know why you’re here. Let’s cut to the chase. Where are the animals?”

The yellow light overhead was artificial and scathing, painting everyone in shades of harshness. The sharpness of Tina’s nose was thrown into prominence, as were the lines on Graves’s face. There were so many of them-- worry lines and frown lines twisting between each other.

“The what?” Bianchi twisted his head to blink innocently up at Graves and a wave of dislike washed over Newt, foreign and familiar at the same time. Newt wasn’t the type to be vengeful, but he couldn’t help the vindictive stab of pleasure he felt at seeing this man in custody.

“The magical creatures you brought to New York.” Graves pressed both hands onto the reflective metal table, leaning in close to Bianchi. The intimidation didn’t work; Bianchi just cast a lazy look at him.  “The ones you intended to sell on the black market for profit. Where _are they_?”

“I don’t know anything about any magical creatures, sir,” Bianchi said. His eyes found Newt’s and he smirked, chapped lips stretching wide. Newt glared even as his heartbeat quickened nervously. “But if you’re looking for black market animals, you might want to take a look in that suitcase over there.”

Newt’s fingers tightened reflexively on the handle.

“We aren’t interested in Mr. Scamander right now, Bianchi, we’re interested in you,” Graves said.

“ _You_ may not be interested in Mr. Scamander, Graves, but _I_ certainly am.” For the first time Bianchi showed something more than disinterest, a flicker of anger lighting up his face. Newt raised his chin and tucked shaking hands behind his back. He refused to be frightened. “That man is a liar and a _thief_ \--”

“That’s rich coming from you,” Tina spat.

“Who are you?” Bianchi glanced at Tina. “How does that saying go again, Graves? How many aurors does it take to crack a criminal?”

“Where are the animals, Bianchi?” Graves asked, straightening up and frowning down at the man. Newt remembered his own interrogation last year, remembered staring into Graves’s face and being asked simple questions in a concerned, almost apologetic manner. He didn’t understand how Grindelwald had gotten away with the performance for so long. The real Graves handled himself with authority and assuredness, leaving no question as to who was in charge.

Bianchi laughed, and the throaty sound scratched Newt’s ears. “We both know you don’t give a rat’s ass about those animals, Graves,” he said. “None of you do, except maybe saint Scamander over there. You want some other kind of information, don’t you?”

Tina crossed her arms and glared. Graves’s expression didn’t change.

“I don’t want anything, except to see you rot in jail,” he said.

“Poignant, Mr. Director, sir.” Bianchi rolled his eyes. “Do you know you are the _biggest_ drama queen that I ever--”

“What do you know, Vincenzo?” Newt asked.

His soft voice stilled the criminal. Bianchi clenched his jaw, a vein jumping in his neck.

“What do I know?” Bianchi turned to Newt the best he could in his confines. Newt sensed the invisible restraints tense and resisted the urge to step further away. He knew how Bianchi worked. If he showed any weakness it would be exploited, and Newt didn’t feel like getting embarrassed in front of both Tina _and_ Graves. “Scamander, if I had free range of mobility right now, you and your stupid suitcase would be splattered all over this lousy excuse for an interrogation room.”

Graves made a sound deep in his throat, almost a growl. “Watch your threats, Bianchi.”

“Mind sharing how you two know each other?” Tina asked, cocking an eyebrow at Newt. Newt bit his lip and turned away, a flush rising in his cheeks.

“I’ll tell you how I know Scamander,” Bianchi snapped. He leaned forward, straining against his bonds. “Scamander has been a thorn in my side for years. He sneaks around and takes things that don’t belong to him, drives off paying customers, steals-- two years ago, he posed as a customer looking to buy an entire cage of bowtruckles. Then, when I had my back turned, he made off with it! All thirty of them, gone! Without paying!”

Newt felt Pickett shift again in his coat, curling closer to his chest. Sharp branches dug into his skin as he glared at Bianchi. “You were going to sell those bowtruckles into slavery,” he said. “And besides, I _did_ pay you for them.”

“YOU LEFT A FUCKING NO-MAJ BUS TOKEN!”

Newt flinched. “It was all I had,” he muttered when both Tina and Graves looked at him incredulously.

“I lost a fortune.” Bianchi fell back in his chair. The wooden legs scratched against the tile. “Not to mention the dear old boss almost had my head for it. But that wasn’t the end of it, no, sir. Scamander nicked all my radishites two weeks later. He broke in and took them right off of my desk.”

“Radishites?” Tina asked.

“They’re small, pink creatures about the size of a fist,” Newt murmured, “and their fur is used for--”

“Yes, thank you, Mr. Scamander.” Graves’s words cut through his, and Newt dutifully fell silent. “Would you like to explain-- without shouting, please-- how you first became acquainted with Mr. Bianchi?”

“Well,” Newt said, “I became, um, aware of his group a few years ago, when I was just starting to travel for my research. They’re very notorious smugglers who deal almost exclusively in magical creatures. I witnessed them mistreating their animals, and I… stepped in?”

“Scamander has been sneaking in and out of our headquarters for _years_ pilfering our animals, following us from country to country--”

“Were we speaking to you, Bianchi?” Graves’s voice was chilly, and Newt repressed a shiver. Bianchi clenched his jaw and flared his nostrils, but didn’t try to say anything else. “No? I didn’t think so. Continue, Mr. Scamander.”

Newt toyed with the clasp on his suitcase. The room was starting to feel smaller, each blank gray wall looming closer, the one-way mirror reflecting their own images back at them and crowding the room with more people. Newt glanced at himself in it. He looked as pathetically anxious as he felt. 

“They don’t care about the animals,” he said, trying to explain himself. “Half the time the buyers they sell to slaughter them for parts or chain them up as some kind of sick decoration. I wasn’t stealing them, I was rescuing them.”

“Let me get this straight.” Graves pinched the bridge of his nose. “You have been sneaking into clandestine black market operations to rescue abused animals for _years_ , and you have _actually been getting away with it_?”

“For the most part?” Newt shuffled his feet and licked his lips. “And for the record, I haven’t done it in America, so technically you can’t, um, arrest me for it. I know the law, and this is outside of MACUSA’s jurisdiction, so you can’t make me give them back.”

Newt would have called the expression on Graves’s face fond exasperation if he hadn’t known any better.

“I’m not going to make you give them back.” Graves’s voice was quiet but clear in the silent room.

Newt stared at his shoes. “They don’t know how to properly care for their animals,” he said. “I believe it’s quite possible that one could have escaped. If they can tell us which one it is...”

“Alright.” Tina crossed her arms and glared down at Bianchi. “What is it, then?”

“Look, I don’t know what you idiots are on about,” Bianchi said. He tilted his head sharply to the side and cracked his neck. Newt winced. “We just got to New York three weeks ago, and I haven’t heard about any animals getting loose. I was just doing my job.”

“A job you got arrested for,” Graves said coolly.

“Oh, we both know you won’t be able to hold me longer than a few weeks.” Bianchi rolled his eyes. “Although knowing you, you’ll try to go for life in prison yet again.”

“You said ‘we’,” Tina said, “as in, your entire ring is here in New York? What’s to stop us from bringing them all in?”

Bianchi let out a bark of laughter. “They haven’t done anything illegal while they’ve been in America,” he said, “and you don’t have jurisdiction for anything out of the country according to Mr. Scamander there. I worked this job alone. Do you think we’re stupid? This way, if I get caught, I can’t rat on anyone even if I want to. Boss’s orders.”

“And who’s your boss?”

Newt’s hands jerked, a nervous twitch that Bianchi caught. His lips split into a broad grin.

“Mr. Scamander knows,” he said. “You got to know her intimately during your stays in our cells. Where was that, Croatia?” His eyes narrowed. Newt stared hard at the ground, trying not to look too nervous, but he couldn’t say anything to defend himself so he stood there and tried not to tremble. “Of course, then you commandeered an Erumpent and ran for the hills, but we still appreciated your time with us. I just wish that I had been able to--”

A loud bang made Newt drop his suitcase. He dropped to the ground and scrambled to pick it up, mouth forming wordless apologies, but his fingers were shaking so badly he could hardly get them to close around the handle. He looked up, eyes wide. Graves loomed over Bianchi, hands flat on the metal table where he had slammed them. His expression was twisted with anger. Tina had her wand out, poised for attack, eyes moving back and forth from Graves to Newt, who was still crouched on the floor.

“If you don’t shut up, Bianchi, I promise that I will find some way to get you the death penalty,” he growled. Bianchi shrank in his chair, horror painted so grotesquely across his face that Newt would have laughed if he hadn’t been equally terrified. “Care to test me?”

Bianchi whimpered something that might have been a “no.” His wrists tugged at the invisible restraints under the table. Newt couldn’t blame him; the hair on the back of his neck prickled as he stood on shaky legs, watching Graves. Pickett was quivering, and Graves… Newt tried to think what had made his temper boil over, but he couldn’t rationalize it. Perhaps he was just annoyed that Bianchi was so off subject?

He was grateful for it nevertheless, even if Graves hadn’t set out with the intention to rescue him. Dealing with Bianchi was hard enough without being reminded of what had happened the one time he had caught Newt.

“Now,” Graves continued in a low voice, “I’m going to tell you what’s going to happen. First, you are going to tell me where those animals are, the ones that you smuggled into America to sell. Then, we are going to allow you to arrange a meeting for us with this boss of yours, and we are going to question _her_ about the creature your organization may or may not have let loose. Understood?” When Bianchi didn’t answer, he leaned farther across the table, fingers curling on the smooth metal. “ _Understood?_ ”

“Yes!” Bianchi swallowed roughly. “Dear god, Graves, calm down.”

“I’ll calm down when you’re out of my sight.” Graves stood and looked at Tina, a residual glare cooling on his face. “Take him down to the cells, Goldstein, and get that information out of him. Oversee the scheduling. I would prefer to meet with this woman sooner rather than later.”

“Right, sir.” Tina strode forward and grabbed Bianchi’s arm, unchaining him from the chair with a wave of her hand. She pulled him to his feet and tugged him away, still looking worriedly at both Newt and her boss. Bianchi, mostly recovered from his terror, turned to Newt as he passed.

“Say hello to the boss for me, Scamander,” he said. Then he winced and glared at Tina. “Ouch! Not so tight, lady.”

“My apologies.” Tina’s voice was tight and professional.

The door slammed shut behind them. Newt stood perfectly still, frightened of another outburst, while Graves released a deep breath and scrubbed at his face with his hand. All of the anger seemed to have leached from him by now. The lines of exhaustion on his face became more prominent as he relaxed.

“Are you alright, Mr. Scamander?” he asked.

“Me?” Newt shifted his grip on his case. He still felt bad about dropping it, even though the animals wouldn’t have felt anything. “I’m fine.”

 _Are you_? The question was on the tip of his tongue, but Newt didn’t think it would be appreciated, so he bit down on it.

“The suitcase is alright?” When Newt shot a quizzical look at him, Graves said, “You dropped it. The animals, are they alright?”

“Oh,” Newt said, not expecting the polite concern. He was still half worried that Graves was about to yell at him. “Yes, they’re fine. Thank you.”

Graves hummed. He shoved his hands into his pocket, staring at the chair Bianchi had vacated. His expression was distant. “I don’t want to pry,” he said, “but…”

Newt swallowed. “Oh,” he repeated. “Well, like I said, I’d been… um, visiting these people for years, and one time they caught me?” He lifted one shoulder in a half shrug even though Graves wasn’t looking at him. “They pitched me in one of their cells to hold me while they tried to figure out if I could be useful. I got out after a few weeks, of course. That’s when I rescued the erumpent. They were going to sell her to the highest bidder for her horn, so it’s a lucky thing that I got caught when I did.”

“Lucky…” Graves turned his head a fraction of an inch, and Newt’s breath caught in his throat. He was already slightly scared of Graves, frightened of how he could make Newt tremble with just a look, but the expression on his face now was more terrifying than any other. His eyebrows were pinched in concern, his lips softened at the edges, and an unfamiliar fluttering sensation took root in Newt’s stomach. He bit his lip hard and turned away, hoping his face didn’t give away his sudden nerves.

“Mr. Scamander, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were a Gryffindor,” Graves said.

Newt shuffled his feet. “I’m actually a Hufflepuff through and through, sir,” he said, his voice almost a whisper.

Graves’s lips twitched. Then he cleared his throat and raised his shoulders. “I ought to check on Goldstein. I’ll be in contact later, Mr. Scamander.”

Newt stared after Graves as he disappeared through the door, letting it click shut behind him. Newt’s fingers had gone lax on the handle of his suitcase.

“Okay,” he said into the empty room.

It was a long time before he was able to leave.

XXXXX

“An international smuggling ring is operating out of _here_?” Tina squinted up under the brim of her hat, blinking into the sunlight.

“It’s a temporary residence,” said Newt. “They probably acquired it just for this meeting.”

“I don’t even want to know how they acquired it.” Tina crossed her arms and appraised the small building. The address Bianchi had given them had taken them to a rundown section of the city; the street they were on was lined with empty businesses. Ripped closed signs dangled from their doors. Their meeting was set to be in an abandoned furniture store, with glass windows that were tinted and broken in several places. A faded sign over the door read ‘Montgomery Furnishings.’ “Does the plan still stand, Graves?”

Mr. Graves stared at the building, expression shrewd and calculating. His hair was slicked back as usual, but a strand of it had come loose and curved gently across his forehead, just brushing the arch of his brows. Newt thought it suited him.

“Yes,” Graves said. “Head around back and see if there’s another entrance.” He tucked his hands into his pockets. “Keep quiet and out of trouble, see if there’s anything we can catch them on. If we can get the whole lot of them on smuggling, you’ll be the hero of America, Goldstein.”

“Got it.” Tina tugged on the sash around her waist, tightening her coat. “I’ll give you twenty minutes. If you’re not out, I’m calling backup and coming in.”

“Perfect,” Graves said. When Tina turned to loop around back, he said, “Goldstein.”

She stopped and looked back. “Sir?”

“Be careful.” Graves’s voice was rough. “I know you thrive in reconnaissance missions, but these people are dangerous, and I would hate to have to replace you.”

Tina’s lips twitched. “I could say the same of you, sir,” she said. She rested a hand on her hat as a breeze rustled by and blew her hair into her face. “Look after Newt, please.”

“Don’t worry, Ms. Goldstein,” Graves said, “I’ll take care of your little boyfriend.”

“What?” Newt asked indignantly.

Tina just rolled her eyes and turned around. “I mean it, Graves,” she called over her shoulder. Before Newt could say anything she disappeared into the darkness of a side alley.

“Come on, Scamander.” Graves was already walking towards the front door. Newt tripped over his own feet when he tried to follow too quickly, shoes snagging on the sidewalk. He caught himself. His eyes darted towards Graves to make sure his blunder hadn’t been seen. He was _trying_ to get the auror to respect him, just a little bit, and he didn’t think stumbling into a meeting as important as this would earn him any points.

“Mr. Graves,” he said, hopping up the curb half a pace behind Graves, “shouldn’t, um, Tina be accompanying you instead of me?”

“It’s standard protocol, Mr. Scamander.” Graves drew up in front of the door and squinted at it as though analyzing it for threats. “Goldstein is extraordinarily skilled with espionage. Her job is to figure out what’s going on behind closed doors so we don’t have to open them. If these people decide not to cooperate with us, hopefully she’ll be able to learn something-- and in the event that our safety is compromised, we will have the element of surprise on our hand.” Graves drew his wand out of his pocket and waved it over the handle of the door. “And I need _you_ here because I don’t know a damn thing about magical creatures.” Appeased, he straightened and slipped his wand back into his coat. “Ready?”

“Um,” Newt said.

“I’ll take that as a yes.” Mr. Graves raised his hand and knocked three times on the glass. The entire door shook at the impact. The painted sign above loomed over their heads, threatening to come crashing down. One of the chains holding it groaned in the wind.

Newt was so busy watching it that he didn’t notice the door had opened until a croaky voice said, “Yes?”

Newt dropped his gaze to the house elf peering up at them through the crack in the door.

“We have an appointment,” said Mr. Graves. Newt’s spine straightened without him consciously thinking of it, trying to appear half as professional as Graves did.

The elf looked them over, jowls quivering. His yellow, lamp-like eyes were unimpressed. “Alright,” he said after a moment, “come in.”

The door creaked loosely on tired hinges as they stepped inside. Newt reached a distracted hand up to offer his finger to Pickett, who was still tucked into his breast pocket, too terrified to emerge. A leafy limb wrapped around his pinky.

The store had been abandoned for a long time. Deep cracks had worked their way into the cement floor, trailing from one decaying, outdated sofa to the next. This might once have been a beautiful showroom, but now there were weeds sprouting from the walls and mold eating the rolled up rugs. It carried a heavy, musky scent that made Newt’s nose itch. He sniffed loudly.

“Stay near me,” Graves murmured into Newt’s ear, passing so close that their shoulders brushed. Newt repressed a shiver and wound himself more tightly into his coat, jerking his head in a nod.

The house elf murmured to himself as he waddled betwixt the furniture. A stained towel flapped around his waist, held up at the hip by an old clothespin. “Absolutely filthy,” he murmured, “won’t even let me clean it, the mistress won’t…” He slipped behind a rusted metal counter, where an ancient register was gathering dust, and gestured to the door behind it. “She’s through there,” he said.

“Thank you,” Newt said as he followed Graves through the doorway.

The next room was even larger. It had probably been used for storage at one point. Empty shelves lined every wall, and overhead a stream of sunshine trickled towards the center of the room through a cracked skylight. Sitting right beneath it, on a red fainting couch that had withstood the test of time far better than its peers, was a woman. When they entered she lifted her head, blond hair parting like a waterfall to reveal a blinding smile, and Newt’s heart skipped a beat as the smell of mildew was suddenly replaced by something warm and distantly familiar.

Graves drew up short, bristling as his senses picked up on the change.

“Scamander,” he muttered, eyes sharp on the woman, “you didn’t think it was important to mention what she is?”

“Oh,” Newt said. He tugged the sleeve of his coat, repressing the spark of fear that had lit in his chest at the sight of the woman. “She’s not a full Veela, sir, only half.”

Graves clenched his fists at his sides. “That’s still fifty percent more dangerous than a regular person.”

“Come in.” Her voice was silk spinning through the air, wrapping around their wrists and tugging them forward. Newt braced himself even as his feet drew him nearer, Mr. Graves at his side. “Have a seat.” She waved a hand and two armchairs skidded across the floor from opposite sides of the room, sliding to a smooth stop in front of her. “Mr. Scamander, how lovely to see you again.”

The faintest hint of her charm touched his mind, but Newt shook it off with a scowl, searching for his defenses. He sat down on the edge of one of the armchairs, eyes darting away, looking for a way out or perhaps a sign of Tina. When he didn’t respond the woman arched a delicate eyebrow and turned to Mr. Graves.

“You must be Percival,” she said. She extended her hand to him, pink lips twisted in a sweet smile, and fluttered her eyelashes. Mr. Graves took her fingers in his as a gentleman would. His lips were parted just slightly as he stared at her. Newt felt a flutter of unease. Maybe he _shouldn’t_ have forgotten to warn Graves that they would be facing a half Veela. Her powers may be diluted, but she had spent so long sharpening them as a weapon that the generational gap didn’t matter much at all. Newt had seen grown men dissolve into tears just because she sighed in disappointment.

“My name is Sarreia,” she said.

Graves’s chest rose and fell slowly. He hadn’t blinked yet. “Percival Graves,” he murmured, swooping down to brush a kiss against her hand. Newt turned away, fingers closing reflexively over the air, wishing he had the handle of his suitcase to grip for comfort.

Sarreia giggled, withdrawing her hand. “What a gentleman,” she cooed.

“Sarreia,” Newt said before Graves could respond. The name was acid on his tongue. “There’s a creature in New York that’s--”

“Oh, Newt, you’re always so serious.” Sarreia crossed her legs and her silken gown, split at the hip, cascaded to reveal a moon-white thigh. Her ankle dangled in the space between them, and even Newt’s eye was drawn to it. “Can I get you boys something to drink? Tea? You take two sugars, don’t you, Newt?”

“No, thank you.” Graves sounded a little dazed. He sank down into his chair, far too relaxed for Newt’s comfort. “Ms. Sarreia--”

“Oh, just Sarreia, please, Percival.” She caught her tongue between her teeth as she smiled. “We’re just chatting, are we not?”

“We want to know--” Newt tried.

“Newt, dear,” Sarreia said, “how have you been this past year? You published a book, correct? _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_. It’s absolutely marvelous.”

Newt tried not to respond, but the word was drawn from the back of his throat before he could stop himself. “Thank you,” he muttered.

Sarreia’s eyes sparkled. She leaned back against the fainting couch, trailing one long red nail against the velvet. Newt risked a look at Graves. The auror was slumped in his chair, head tilted to the side. His attention was entirely fixed on Sarreia, but not in a particularly calculating way. Or perhaps it was calculating, but not in a fashion that was entirely appropriate. A spasm of panic seized Newt. Sarreia had gotten even better since Newt had last dealt with her. Even _he_ could feel his mind getting clouded, his eye drawn back to the curve of her neck and the slope of her breasts as she shifted in her seat. The neckline of her neck plunged lower than any dress Newt had seen, bringing heat to his cheeks every time he looked at it.

“And you.” Her expression softened as it settled on Graves. “Recovered from that dreadful business with Grindelwald last year? Yes, I heard about that,” she said when surprise stirred Graves’s features. “You poor man. I do hope he didn’t hurt you.”

Graves frowned like he was fighting something. “I’m fine,” he murmured.

“I’m ever so grateful for that.” Her voice carried a promise that made Graves relax again. Newt bristled.

“We aren’t doing this,” he said. “Sarreia, we came here to ask you a few questions, and then we are leaving.”

“How is my erumpent doing, Newt?” Sarreia leaned forward, balancing her chin on the tip of her nails, blue eyes wide. “I’m sure you’re taking very good care of it. After all, you’re the best out there, aren’t you, doll?”

Newt swallowed. He was rusty. He had encountered half-Veelas before, even full Veelas, and knew the basics of how to throw off their charm, but Sarreia was extraordinarily powerful. He felt her magic pressing in on him, drawing relaxation out of tensed muscles. He strained against it, maintaining a glare even as discomfort welled in his joints. Sarreia twisted her head, the picture of serenity, and with a faint whisper her power slipped through Newt’s defenses. Sudden relief clouded his mind as his shoulders dropped of their own accord, endorphins flooding his system as he gave in.

“You’ve stolen from me, Newt.” Her words were reprimanding, but they lacked any venom. “It’s made me very unhappy.”

“You were hurting those animals.” Newt’s words came out soft, murmured, and he knew he should be angrier but something was kneading his mind and he suddenly felt warm from head to foot, another wave of pleasure washing through his body. He knew distantly that she had turned on her full charm and that he should be struggling, but that rational part of his brain grew quieter and quieter with each passing moment.

“Oh, but I wasn’t.” Sarreia stood, the black silk falling back across her legs as she stood. Newt watched the sliver of skin disappear behind the curtain as she stepped closer to him. He tilted his head back to keep looking at her face, at the slope of her nose and the deep blue of her eyes. “You know I wasn’t. You stole them from me.” She bent down, and Newt was encased in the scent of flowers. It filled his mind until all he could think about was daffodils and roses and lilies. “We still have a cell open for you, you know.” Her voice was a whisper. Something brushed his chest, right over his heart, and Newt dropped his eyes lazily to her hand smoothing back his coat, toying with the buttons of his shirt. “This time your stay will be much longer, won’t it?”

“Don’t touch him.” The sharp voice jilted Newt’s stupor. He blinked as Sarreia straightened, taking with her the flowers and the relaxation until the numbness dripped away and Newt could feel his clenched muscles again. He sucked in a breath of air, shaking his head to rid his mind of her influence.

“Oh, I was only playing, Mr. Graves.” Her voice was sweet again. “Besides, my charms have never worked quite right on Newt. I’m not his type, isn’t that right, dear?”

Heat flooded Newt’s face. He dropped his gaze to his trembling hands. He had let her in, and suddenly he had been back in her office, helpless to watch as she draped herself across her desk and toyed with his emotions. At one point he had been so deep he had thought himself in love with her.

Then, of course, she had sent him right back to his cell, and sharp reality had slapped him in the face again. The cold disillusionment, that stripping of comfort, had been more painful than any physical punishment.

“We have Vincenzo Bianchi in custody.” Graves’s expression was shrewd and annoyed. He didn’t look at all dazed anymore. “We know that you have done nothing illegal on American soil that we can convict you of, so spare us the gloating and tell us what you know about the recent murders in the magical community.”

“You mean those serial disappearances?” Sarreia tucked her hair behind her ear. “I know plenty. Everyone’s terrified. The markets are flooded with phony protection charms.”

Graves made an irritated noise. “You deal in magical beasts-- don’t bother denying it, I’m not trying to get a confession, I’m just trying to get information.” He sat back in his seat and looked at her coolly. “These disappearances are the work of some kind of magical creature. We don’t know what it is, but all of this started the same time that you and your little group arrived in America.”

“What are you insinuating, Mr. Graves?”

“I’m insinuating nothing, I’m simply stating the facts.”

They stared at each other. The air rippled with the same energy that had nearly incapacitated Newt a few minutes ago. He watched Graves anxiously, waiting for the shift to take over his expression, but Graves’s eyes remained hard and fixed on Sarreia.

After a few seconds Sarreia sat back in her seat. She licked her bottom lip.

“Well,” she said. “It appears I’m not your type, either.”

Graves’s jaw clenched. “What do you know about this creature?”

Sarreia glanced at her fingernails, raising one eyebrow. “What’s in it for me?”

“How about I don’t throw you into a cell?” Graves growled.

Sarreia laughed. It sounded like music, a forgotten tune that Newt couldn’t quite place. “Please,” she said. “I don’t respond well to intimidation. I prefer to be the dominant one, Mr. Graves.”

A lesser man might have blushed, but Graves just said, “What do you want?”

“Full immunity for anything that I reveal in this conversation,” she said. Her eyes strayed to Newt. Her lip curled. “And every creature that Scamander here has stolen from me.”

Newt curled his fists and sat up straight. “No.” He glared, fear forgotten. “I will not allow you to _sell_ them for--”

“Relax, Mr. Scamander.” Graves kept his eyes fixed on Sarreia as Newt looked at him in surprise. “The animals are not in the negotiation.”

“Those creatures were taken illegally,” Sarreia said. Her fingers tightened, nails digging into the velvet of her chair. “MACUSA is harboring a criminal. I am just demanding what is rightfully mine.”

“They are _not_ yours,” Newt snapped.

“The animals are non-negotiable.” Graves’s voice was ice.

Sarreia pursed her lips and crossed her ankles. Her black heels reflected the lightbulb hanging far above their heads. “Then it appears we are at a stalemate,” she said.

Graves looked thoughtful, and Newt resisted the urge to reach to Pickett for comfort. Graves was going to trade them. Why wouldn’t he? Newt had obtained them illegally, and they were just animals after all, at least to Graves. Newt had left his case with Queenie for safety, and now he regretted it. If Graves made the deal how fast could Newt get to them? Assuming Graves let him leave, of course, which he most likely wouldn’t.

“Bianchi,” Graves said.

“What?” Newt asked.

Graves shot him a look that plainly said, _Shut up, Scamander._

“I will pardon Vincenzo Bianchi,” he said, “ _and_ offer you full immunity for whatever information you give us, granted that you tell us everything you know and Bianchi leaves the country within the week.”

Newt repressed a sigh of relief, keeping perfectly still so as not to disturb the negotiations. Sarreia narrowed her eyes, silent for a long moment, probing the air between them for deceit. Then she sniffed.

“Deal.”

Graves leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “Is it your creature, then?”

Newt’s chest tightened. He bit his lip, watching Sarreia look lazily from Graves to Newt. She was savoring the tension. Her lips curved into a smile.

“No.”

Graves snapped.

“I made that deal with you on the basis that you had _information_ to give us,” he snarled, rising half out of his seat in anger. “I am not playing _games_ with you. Just because your pretty face gets you everything you want in life--”

“Do not underestimate me so easily, Mr. Graves.” Sarreia’s face twisted, and suddenly she wasn’t quite so beautiful anymore. “I am here today because I was born with talents and I know how to use them, and I will remain here because I am smarter than your entire auror department combined.” She smoothed her dress, chin raised high. “Besides, I do have information. The creature isn’t one of mine, yes, but I know whose it is.”

“Who?” Newt asked, swooping in when Graves looked ready to start shouting again.

“One of my employees,” Sarreia said. “She had a rather… dangerous hobby. I told her explicitly that I would not allow it to continue while she was under my jurisdiction, but I’m afraid she doesn’t know how to listen very well. But oh, she was marvelous with the animals. Her skills might even rival yours, Mr. Scamander.”

“If she was so good, how did she let something get loose?” Graves asked as he dropped back into his seat.

“She let her own talents run away with her,” Sarreia said. She examined the toe of her shoe idly. “She had quite the penchant for experimental breeding, you see.”

Something clicked in Newt’s mind. “Oh,” he said softly.

“You understand now,” Sarreia said, smiling at him. Newt’s stomach turned. “A few weeks ago she created something that was just a little too strong to handle, and it got out. Not before it destroyed my office first, of course.”

“This employee, what’s her name?” Graves asked.

Sarreia tilted her head, letting golden hair fall to frame her face. “No idea,” she said. “Oh, don’t look at me like that, Mr. Graves, I run a very tight business here. Almost all of my employees use fake names. What I can tell you is that she was operating under the name Helen Boyd and that her apartment is only a few blocks from here. I can get you the address, if you want.” She cocked an eyebrow at Newt, gaze slipping down to his chest. “If you throw in the bowtruckle.”

Newt’s hand came up to cover Pickett. “No.”

“What?” Mr. Graves turned to look at him, lips parted in bewilderment. “Do you have a… how long have you had a bowtruckle?”

“He always stays with me, he has attachment problems. We’re working through it together.”

“You’re…? No, we’ll talk about this later.” Mr. Graves shook his head. “The bowtruckle is not on the table.”

“It was worth a shot.” Sarreia reclined back on the fainting couch, crossing her ankles. “She lived in the apartment buildings on Varick Street, know the ones? It should be under her name. You’ll find it. Now then, I think our time is coming to a close. Your associate will get worried if you’re not out soon, won’t she?” She smiled when they exchanged panicked looks. “Please, you think I didn’t know she was snooping around back there? Don’t worry, I didn’t harm her-- this time. But if you try and cross me again--”

“There won’t be a next time.” Graves got to his feet and Newt hurriedly followed his lead. “Thank you for your cooperation.”

“I want Vincenzo Bianchi freed within the hour, Mr. Graves.” She stood as well, silk dress sliding and rippling with every movement.

“He’ll be crawling back to your doorstep very soon, I promise you.” Graves adjusted his coat and turned away. “Come on, Scamander.”

“Mr. Scamander.”

Newt feet stopped before he could think about it. He turned around slowly, fingers twitching protectively toward Pickett, mind preparing to block off any advances. He could still feel it pulsing in the air around him, the power that was so seductively destructive.

“I do hope we never see each other again.” Sarreia’s voice was dangerous. “I don’t have to tell you what happens when you cross me, because you already know. Stay away from my animals.”

Her words teemed with threats and memories, the promise of more time in her cells. Being brought to her office in the evening so she could search his mind for advice on how to restrain and control creatures, and then being sent back to his prison so the smugglers he had stolen from throughout the years could poke and prod at him. 

Graves shifted beside Newt, sensing the change in mood. His hand moved to the pocket where he kept his wand. Newt reached out and brushed his arm to stop him, watching Sarreia closely. Graves stilled underneath Newt’s touch.

“Could I ask you to stop dealing in animals, Sarreia?” Newt asked quietly.

Sarreia’s smile became more of a grimace. “It is my job, Mr. Scamander.”

“And protecting them is my job. As long as you continue to hurt them, you will continue to have to deal with me.” Newt glanced at Graves. The other man was staring at him, dark eyes wide, expression dazed in the same way it had been under Sarreia’s spell, and Newt knew they had to get out of there before she pulled anymore tricks. He dropped his hand from Graves’s coat. “Goodbye, Sarreia.”

Newt turned and strode away, and he didn’t look back when Sarreia said, her voice silky with distaste, “Goodbye, Mr. Scamander.”

The house elf was sitting in an old wooden chair behind the counter, using magic to balance the furniture piece on only three splintered legs. Newt dipped his head to the creature as he passed. “Thank you,” he said, receiving nothing but a blank stare in return

Newt didn’t stop until he pushed open the glass doors and burst outside. It seemed bright compared to the dim interior of the furniture store. He blinked at the empty street and took a deep breath before turning to Mr. Graves, who had followed him out and was standing just in front of the door, eyes roving around the area.

“Tina isn’t out yet,” Newt said.

“It’s only been eighteen minutes. She’ll be here at twenty, no use going to fetch her.” Mr. Graves exhaled heavily. More of his hair had come out of its slicked style, strands falling to loop gracefully across his forehead, shifting in the breeze. Newt watched them dance.

“I’ll get a team to that address immediately, but I doubt anyone will be there,” Graves said. “Scamander, how much will this information help you?”

“Quite a bit,” Newt said, forcing his gaze away from Graves’s hair. “I’ve studied breeding patterns before. I’ll cross-reference all of the symptoms of the victims with the creature’s behavior and maybe I’ll be able to figure out which animals were crossed. Oh, alright, you can come out.” He lifted the collar of his coat and offered his hand. Pickett clambered onto it, squeaking indignantly as he scrabbled at Newt's knuckles for traction. “What is it this time? I’m sorry for all the movement, but we sort of needed to get out of there. If you don’t like it, you can go back to your tree.” Pickett hissed, crouching on the back of Newt’s hand. Newt rolled his eyes. “Yes, yes, I know.”

A movement from the curb drew Newt’s eyes, and his cheeks prickled with embarrassment. He had momentarily forgotten that Graves was watching him.

“Um,” he said as Pickett strode back and forth across the top of his hand, pulling faces with every turn. “Pickett, this is Mr. Graves. Mr. Graves…”

“Why on earth,” Graves said, staring at the pacing creature, “do you carry a _bowtruckle_ with you?”

“I told you, he has attachment issues,” Newt said. “He feels safer when he’s with me. Ouch!” He glared at Pickett, who had just pinched him. “Although _I_ don’t feel safer with _him_. Will you stop?”

“Mr. Graves, Newt!” When Tina came running out of the alley again relief bloomed in Newt’s chest. He placed Pickett carefully back into his pocket as she came to a panting stop. She had lost her hat. “Are you alright?”

“Quite alright,” Newt said with a half smile, grateful when Pickett stopped shouting at him and settled down.

“I didn’t find anything,” Tina said “I didn’t even see anyone. Did you--?”

“We have a name and an address,” Mr. Graves said. “We’re going back to MACUSA to dispatch a team. Come on, both of you. And Scamander,” he said, eyebrow cocked in a way that brought a flush to Newt’s face, “don’t forget that bowtruckle, will you?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll be playing more with this back story later, so you will get to hear plenty more about it. *Cue the angst* 
> 
> Thank you all so much for 80+ comments and nearly 500 kudos!! This is absolutely incredible, I'm so excited that you're all enjoying this story so far. Please continue to leave your feedback! Your comments make my day :) 
> 
> I'm heading off on a much needed vacation this weekend so the next chapter should be posted shortly after I get back.
> 
> Hope everyone is having an amazing day/night/3 AM fanfiction binge!


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Newt toyed with the cuff of his coat. He knew the next words out of his mouth were insane, and that he would get shot down immediately, and maybe Graves would even fire him for being unprofessional, but the sinking sun and the heady smell of Graves’s tobacco and the shadows creeping closer and closer to Newt filled him with a strange recklessness that tingled in his toes.
> 
> “Do you have plans tonight, Mr. Graves?”

_Stercore_

**Newt**

“We traced Helen Boyd to her apartment, but the landlord says she hasn’t been there in weeks,” Tina said. “She paid her rent three months in advance but didn’t say a word about leaving early.”

“He didn’t report her disappearance?” Newt asked. “If she’s been missing for weeks…”

“All he cares about is that she paid,” Graves said. He twirled a gold pen in his fingers. “Goldstein, did you get a picture from wand regulation?”

“No, sir.” Tina’s posture was perfect, her shoulders thrown back professionally, the picture of business. Newt looked down at his hands. There was dirt under his nails; Tina had pulled him out of his case in the middle of feeding time, and he had barely had time to grab his coat, let alone wash up. He was grimy and sweaty under his jacket, and every time Graves turned to scrutinize him he tried to hunch further into his seat. He prayed that he didn’t have any dirt on his face, or-- Merlin forbid-- manure.

“They have a record of her arriving in New York on May 14th,” Tina continued, “but her picture isn’t on file.”

“Of course,” Graves said. He shut his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. He looked so strained that Newt’s hand twitched reflexively towards him to-- what, exactly? Newt’s cheeks flooded with heat, and he kept his hands firmly in his lap. “Scamander,” Graves said, “where are you on that experimental breeding thing?”

“I’m looking into it,” Newt said, watching how the frown lines rimming Graves’s mouth moved when he spoke. “I’ve got a, uh, few ideas.”

Graves leaned back in his chair, his shirt stretching at the shoulders when he draped his arms over the back of his seat. He tipped his head to look at Newt. “Well?”

“Um,” Newt said, staring at the top button of Graves’s shirt just below the curve of his throat. Then he snapped out of it and turned to Tina, who was frowning at him. “Well, the behavior seems to come from acromantula predatory habits, but there’s no way an acromantula could be coerced into breeding outside of its species. So I thought maybe something in the same family-- magical arachnids, that is, eight-legged invertebrates with a taste for human flesh and--”

“Newt,” Tina muttered.

Newt swallowed. “Right, sorry. So I’ve been researching scordieces, which are similar to scorpions except that they’re ten feet long and their stingers shoot poison from up to twenty-five feet away with impressive accuracy. I’m fairly certain that that’s one of the animals that was cross-bred; they, too, subdue their prey and can hold them for months at a time before killing them.”

“And they eat humans?” Graves asked.

“Yes,” Newt said. “Magical ones, if they can get them. They like the taste.”

“Alright,” Graves said, expression thoughtful. “So if the scorpion thing is one animal, all you have to do is find the other, right?”

“Well,” Newt said, biting the inside of his cheek. “Maybe.”

“Maybe?”

“It depends on how deep Ms. Boyd was into her experimentation,” Newt said. “She could have crossed a dozen animals before adding the scordiece, and maybe that’s the point at which it went wrong. Or maybe this was her first attempt and there is only one more animal. I have to do more research.”

“We’re running out of time, Scamander,” Graves said. Even though his tone was more weary than accusatory, Newt felt the sting of his disappointment like a physical slap.

“I don’t know much about experimental breeding, Mr. Graves.”

“Isn’t that what you do?”

Newt bristled, straightening in his seat despite his sweaty discomfort. “No,” he said, “I care for animals. I don’t force them to breed like it’s some sort of game. It’s against everything I stand for.”

Graves’s expression was calculating as he stared at Newt, who held his gaze.

“Okay,” Graves said after a moment. “So you’ll research.”

And then the tables were turned again and Newt was back to bouncing his leg nervously under the desk.

“I’ll send a letter to Professor Dumbledore,” Newt said. “He’s done some preliminary studies into experimental breeding-- mostly the political side of it, granted, but he might be able to offer some advice, or at least direct us to someone who can help.”

Tina stirred, turning in her seat to stare at Newt. “Albus Dumbledore?”

“Yes?” Newt blinked at her and then risked a glance at Graves, whose eyebrows were furrowed. “It shouldn’t take too long to get a response, he writes back quickly.”

“You’re in direct contact with Albus Dumbledore?” Tina asked incredulously.

“Um,” Newt said, “he was my professor at Hogwarts.”

“He’s a lot of people’s professor, Newt,” Tina said in exasperation. “Those people don’t have a direct correspondence with him, though.”

Newt shrugged, uncomfortable. “I suppose he likes me,” Newt murmured. “We’re just colleagues.”

“I’m with Goldstein on this one,” Graves said. “He’s one of the most esteemed scholarly minds in the world right now. What makes Albus Dumbledore like you so much?”

The question rang familiar in Newt’s ears, and despite himself, his lips twitched into a surprised smile. Graves’s frown deepened.

“What?” he asked, and there was a note of defensiveness in the words.

“Nothing,” Newt said quickly. “It’s just… well, the other Graves-- Grindelwald, I mean-- asked me nearly the same thing. It’s just funny, that’s all.”

“Ah,” Graves said, expression smoothing into something blank and professional.

Newt sensed the shift and glanced at Tina, but she didn’t seem to have noticed. “Don’t worry,” he said awkwardly, “I like you much better. Than Grindelwald, I mean. Well, I guess that’s obvious, but I mean to say that I like you better than the Graves he created. You’re much better, you’re…” he trailed off when he realized his attempt to break the icy chill that had settled over the conversation wasn’t working. He dropped his gaze to his lap. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have--”

“It’s quite alright, Mr. Scamander,” Graves said. Brisk, businesslike, carefully dismissive. “I think we’re finished here, unless you have anything else to add?”

“No.”

“Goldstein, you work on securing a photograph of Helen Boyd,” Graves said. “Contact me if anything comes up.”

“Yes, sir,” Tina said. “Come on, Newt.”

Newt rose from his chair. Graves picked up a manila folder on his desk and flicked it open, eyes moving down the page. It was a clear dismissal, but Newt still stood there, shifting his weight from foot to foot. He felt like he should apologize, or at least say something, but nothing came to mind. He turned on his heel and hurried out of the office after Tina, shutting the door behind him.

The auror department was chaos as usual. The ambulatory room housed dozens of desks shoved here or there at random intervals, quite unlike the polished department of the British Ministry. Theseus had taken Newt into his office a few times, and Newt had always been intimidated by the stoic aurors and the sterile quarters. Americans were different. They were loud and rarely used their desks, preferring to wander the room or shout across it to each other. Bird and plane shaped memos swooped through the air, ducking and diving around each other. One clipped Newt’s ear and he jumped, hand reaching instinctively back for Mr. Graves’s closed office door. His fingers splayed over the cool wood, and the solidity of it calmed his sudden nerves.

“I’ll have to check in with security and see if anyone saw Boyd entering on the day she registered her wand,” Tina said to herself, moving forward into the chaos. It didn’t bother her; she was at home here. Newt hesitated before deciding that being left alone was substantially worse than braving a crowd and plunged in after her, watching his feet so as not to trip over the briefcases and piles of paper left everywhere.

“Of course, the day guards are out now.” Tina picked through the crowd expertly. Her desk was towards the center of the room, ringed on all sides by other aurors. Newt knew which one it was because he had taken every step to avoid having to go there, but now he kept close to Tina’s heel as she reached it. She snatched her hat off a pile of papers. “Come on, Newt, the office is about to close.”

“Goldstein!” A blonde man Newt vaguely recognized waved from across the room, weaving through the maze of desks.

“Hey, Lakes.” Tina fitted her hat on her head, smoothing down the ends of her hair. Newt edged closer to her desk, pressing his thigh against the sharp corner. A fluttering in his ear drew his eye up to watch a paper bird fly delicately overhead. His eyes followed it from one side of the room to the other, where it swooped through the open doorway that led to the atrium.

“Boss keeping you late again?” Lakes had a large, open face with round cheeks and lots of smile lines. When he spoke his gaze roved, moving past Tina and Newt to the crowd beyond. He looked ready to move onto the next person at any second, and Newt immediately felt ill at ease.

“Not tonight, no,” Tina said. “I was going to go turn in early.”

“Nonsense! A whole bunch of us are going to Patty’s, and don’t think that I’m letting you spend your first night off in--what, three weeks?-- at home!”

Tina grabbed her coat off the back of her chair and slung it over her shoulders. “I would love to, Lakes, but I told Newt he could walk me home.”

Lakes seemed to notice Newt for the first time, and his face split into an even wider smile. “Newt Scamander!” he said. He stepped forward and took Newt’s hand in his own, wringing it. Newt stood there and stared blankly as the other man pumped his arm up and down. “Montgomery Lakes at your service, but you can just call me Lakes, everyone does. Hey, I saw your interview last week! Really good stuff. How’s the search going for that creature thing?’

“I--” Newt started. He wished Lakes would let go of his hand.

“You know we can’t tell you that, Lakes,” Tina said with a roll of her eyes.

“Ah, it was worth a shot.” Lakes relinquished his grip on Newt’s fingers. He was still beaming. “You must join us at Patty’s, Newt. Half the department has been dying to meet you! Come on, I’ll buy you a drink.”

“Oh,” Newt said as his heart picked up a faster tempo. He smiled politely at Lakes's shoulder. “Oh, no, I really must get home, I have to… my animals…”

“I insist you join us, Newt! We expect quite the turnout, everyone’s going to be there. Isn’t that right, Eisenhower?” Lakes clapped Newt on the shoulder as he turned to another approaching wizard, this one weedy and dark haired with a sour expression. Newt dug his nails into the palm of his hand to stop himself from squirming in Lakes’s grip.

“We’re leaving, Lakes,” Eisenhower said, nodding his head towards a large group of aurors milling by the door. He glanced at Tina. “You coming, Goldstein?”

“Wish I could, boys, but I need to get home. It’s been a long day.”

Newt moved a little to the side, slipping out from under Lakes’s heavy hand. “You should go, Tina,” he said quietly. “I can find my way home.”

Tina frowned, but Newt could see the indecision on her face. “Are you sure?”

“You’re not coming, Scamander?” Eisenhower asked.

“Oh, no, I really must get home and, uh… I need to…”

“Come on, Goldstein, tell your boyfriend to join us,” Lakes said, flashing a grin at her.

Newt was spared from utter humiliation when Graves’s office door swung open and the head of the department walked out, dressed in his traveling coat. The room quieted just a little when he appeared, expression dark under the brim of his hat. His gaze roamed his employees and settled on the knot gathered in the center. For a brief moment he made eye contact with Newt. Then he looked away, lips downturned.

“Hey, sir!” Lakes raised a hand in a gesture of welcome to Graves, who just stared back at him coolly. “Want to join us for a drink at Patty’s?”

“What the hell are you doing, Lakes?” Eisenhower muttered under his breath.

“Don’t worry,” Lakes murmured out of the corner of his mouth, still smiling at Graves.

Graves straightened and drew his black coat tighter around him. “No,” he said. “And don’t expect to get out of your responsibilities just because you’ve found a new cheap speakeasy. I want that report on my desk tomorrow morning at eight o’clock sharp, Lakes.”

“Right-ho, Mr. Director, sir.” Lakes saluted as Graves strode off, coat whipping behind him. The crowd parted for him as he disappeared through the door. Newt watched him leave, forever intimidated by the way the man could command an entire room.

“What did I tell you?” Lakes glanced at Eisenhower. “He never says yes, but I still get points for trying.”

“You’d need a million points to get him to stop hating you, Lakes,” Eisenhower said.

“Man, that stick has been shoved even further up his ass lately,” said an auror Newt didn’t recognize. She had perched herself on Tina’s desk, one stockinged ankle kicked up in front of her for examination.

“That man was born with a whole tree shoved up his ass,” announced Lakes, and a smatter of laughter broke out amongst the listening aurors. Newt frowned sharply as indignation flared in his chest. The corner of Tina’s desk dug sharply into the back of his leg, but he couldn’t bring himself to speak up in front of all these people.

“Lakes,” Tina admonished.

“She’s right,” Eisenhower said, “you’ve got to be careful. That man has eyes and ears everywhere. Paranoid as a mouse in a trap shop, he is."

“I would be, too, if I had gotten kidnapped by Grindelwald.” The woman on the desk was flexing her other ankle now, looking down at it almost curiously. “Hey, I think I pulled something this morning.”

“We’ll get you some booze, that’ll clear the pain up,” Lakes said. He turned his smiling eyes on Newt. “So, Newt, you coming?”

“No,” Newt said, still annoyed. “I don’t want to.”

Eisenhower raised an eyebrow. “Careful, buddy,” he said, “spend too much time with Graves and his manners will start to rub off on you.”

“Oh, leave him alone,” Tina said with a scowl. She grabbed Newt’s arm. “Come on, Newt, let’s go home.”

“No, you go,” Newt said.

“What?”

Newt reached up with his other hand and gave her fingers a quick squeeze. “Go on, have fun.” He smiled at her. “I’ll tell Queenie where you are.”

She chewed on her bottom lip. “But I--”

“Go,” Newt said with a laugh, shaking her off of him.

She hesitated a moment longer before smiling. “Alright,” she said. “Thank you, Newt.”

“Move out, troops!” Lakes hollered, and the group of aurors started moving, tripping over each other as they fought to get through the narrow doorway first. They looked half drunk already, and Newt was relieved to see them go. He waved to Tina one last time when she looked back at him, one arm already threaded through another man’s, and then he was alone in the auror department. It seemed suddenly huge in the resounding silence. A few last animal memos scrambled across the desks, skidding to a stop at their destinations and curling into tiny balls. Newt watched a mouse poke around in a pen holder curiously until it realized it was being watched, at which point it self destructed, shredding itself into a hundred tiny little pieces.

Newt took a deep breath, relishing the silence, and put his hands in his pockets. He started walking, picking his way easily through the mess now. Something tugged at the collar of his coat and he glanced down to see Pickett clambering out of his pocket and onto his shoulder.

“Let’s get home,” Newt said. He was tired and still felt gritty with dried mud. “I need to finish feeding everyone, and then you can sit with me while I write a letter to Dumbledore. You remember Dumbledore, don’t you? He’s the one who gave you that flower you carried around for a month straight.”

Pickett clung gently to a strand of Newt’s hair to keep himself upright as Newt walked through the empty halls. Tina would be out most of the night, and Jacob had made dinner for Queenie at his bakery, which meant that Newt had the apartment all to himself for the evening, and he was very grateful. He loved his friends, he did, but he hadn’t had a moment alone since… well, since he had first gotten to New York, almost a month ago now. Newt was exhausted. It would be nice to have a night to cook himself something simple for dinner and just take care of his animals. He had been neglecting them for too long.

Pickett pressed himself against Newt’s neck as they crossed the atrium, which was still crowded with people leaving for the day. Newt hurried across the bridge, eager to get outside. He wanted to check the weather before he decided whether to walk home or not. Apparating was quicker, but he had time to spare for the scenic route.

Newt stepped out into the evening air. The sun was going down in the distance, casting orange light that bounced off of the reflective windows of the buildings. The air tasted of summer, warm and sweet with just a hint of incoming fog. Newt took a deep breath and caught a whiff of something sharper. He frowned and turned his head, looking curiously for the source, and his heart skipped a beat. The man’s back was to him, but it was undoubtedly Graves tucked behind one of the marble pillars of the building, almost camouflaged in the shadows. Smoke hung in the air like a halo above his head.

He wasn’t looking. He hadn’t seen Newt. Newt could just apparate, or even just walk away, and Graves would be none the wiser.

Instead, Newt took a step towards him, clutching his coat around himself. Pickett tugged on a strand of Newt’s hair. It seemed he, too, wondered what Newt thought he was doing.

“Mr. Graves,” Newt said as he approached.

Graves whirled around, both hands moving to the waistband of his trousers where his wand was tucked. A cigarette hung from his lips, caught between his teeth. When he saw Newt his face relaxed and his hands dropped. “Scamander,” he said around his cigarette.

“Oh, I, uh, didn’t mean to frighten you.” Newt stopped where the fading light met the shadows, the tips of his shoes toeing the division. Something held him back from going any nearer. Perhaps it was the suspicion he could read on Graves’s face, the way his eyes narrowed behind the cloud of smoke like he thought Newt was about to try something. Something in Newt’s chest twinged. He was used to people not liking him very much, but they at least trusted him most of the time. He didn't think of himself as very threatening.

“I didn’t know you smoked,” Newt said to break the stretching silence.

Graves reached up and took the cigarette out of his mouth. “Do you want one?”  Smoke danced out of his lips with every word.

“Oh, no,” Newt said hurriedly. “I don’t smoke.”

Graves snorted. “I didn’t think so,” he muttered. He turned to look out at the street, taking another long drag.

Pickett tugged on Newt’s hair again, trying to get him to give up and go home. Graves’s eyes darted over to look at the creature.

“Attachment issues?” Graves asked.

“I think he’s faking them,” Newt said, and then winced. “Pickett, what have I said about hair pulling?”

Graves didn’t laugh, but his lips quirked up very briefly. They settled back into a frown before Newt could really look. Graves’s expression was cool, but his body language kept Newt standing there even though his pulse was racing and the summer air suddenly felt suffocating. There was something in the rigid set of Graves’s shoulders, the sharp line of his clenched jaw, even the way he was holding his cigarette, so tightly he was crushing the paper, and when he raised his hand up Newt thought it was shaking, just a little bit. So Newt stayed, and slipped instinctually into the gentle persona he used when confronting wild animals.

“I've taken in almost a hundred other bowtruckles, but they’re all quite content to stay in their tree,” Newt said. He reached up and let Pickett climb into the palm of his hand. He felt Graves’s eyes on the creature but didn’t look up. “Bowtruckles always have a single home tree, you see. It’s the place they always return to, the place they feel safest. I’m afraid that Pickett has chosen me as his tree. I’m not complaining, of course, he’s lovely company. But I worry he leads a rather lonely life sometimes. A person can’t be a home.” Newt watched Pickett, who had taken a seat in Newt’s hand and was now playing with his pinky, seemingly unaware of the conversation. For a long time they stood there, Graves puffing on his cigarette, Newt examining the bowtruckle.

“I thought you were going out with the others,” Graves said.

Newt let Pickett crawl back onto his shoulder. A breeze ruffled his hair, tickling Newt’s forehead. “Oh, no,” he said.. “I’m not, uh, one for crowds.”

“I know you aren’t.” Graves looked down at the cigarette in his fingers. “I’m not either.”

Newt toyed with the cuff of his coat. He knew the next words out of his mouth were insane, and that he would get shot down immediately, and maybe Graves would even fire him for being unprofessional, but the sinking sun and the heady smell of Graves’s tobacco and the shadows creeping closer and closer to Newt filled him with a strange recklessness that tingled in his toes.

“Do you have plans tonight, Mr. Graves?”

Graves stared, lips parted just slightly in surprise. “What?”

“It’s just that I was taking care of the animals when Tina called me here,” Newt said, tripping over his words in his haste to explain, “and I didn’t get to finish, so I have to go home and make up for lost time, and if you weren’t doing anything I thought that maybe you would want to come and… help? I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to assume that you didn’t have plans, I just know that I don’t, and-- it would be dirty and it would be a lot of heavy lifting and you know what, you definitely don’t want to do that, so I’m just going to leave you in peace and go and I’ll see you--”

“Mr. Scamander,” Graves said, and Newt clamped his mouth shut. His entire face felt red hot, and he wished he was in the shadows like Graves. He waited for Graves to decline, but a small smile had curled its way onto the auror’s face. It was unnatural, but at the same time… pleasant.

“I would enjoy that very much,” he said.

“Really?” Newt blinked. “Well. Wonderful. That’s, uh… great.”

Graves dropped his cigarette and ground it into the cement with the toe of his shoe. “Are we walking?”

“Walking where?”

Graves’s lips did that funny little twitch again. “To your animals.”

“Oh!” Newt considered it, but the idea of walking into the sunset with Graves and having to make conversation for twenty awkward minutes made him so nauseous he was afraid he might vomit. “I was planning on apparating.”

“Alright,” Graves said. He stepped out of the shadows, and the sun touched his hair and the lines of his face and the curve of his neck. He offered his arm. “Lead the way?”

Newt swallowed. His mouth suddenly felt dry. “Right,” he said. He reached out and grasped Graves’s elbow. Newt spent a terrifying moment hoping that his palms weren’t sweaty, then realized that Graves wouldn’t be able to feel it through his coat anyways. “Ready?”

Graves dipped his head in a nod. Newt took a deep breath, preparing himself, then turned on his heel  and let the sharp crack of apparition take them away.

XXXXX

When Newt touched down in his shed and felt the worn wood creak underneath his foot, his shoulders relaxed a fraction of an inch. He had been stuttering his way through small talk for the last five minutes, and just that had drained him of all energy. What had he gotten himself into?

The ladder groaned under Graves’s weight as Newt shrugged off his coat and dropped it onto a spare chair.

“You can set your jacket over there,” Newt said, waving vaguely towards his table. He wished that he had thought to clean up earlier. His shed was even more of a mess than usual due to all of the late nights spent researching, and most of his bookshelves had been overturned onto the table, as well as a dozen stray quills and inkpots. Something was bubbling on the stove and Newt didn’t remember putting it there. He frowned and waved a hand to turn the burner off.

“So this is, uh,” Newt said. He glanced at Graves out of the corner of his eye. “My shed. It’s not much.”

“It’s impressive.” Graves looked around as he slipped out of his jacket. “Really, Mr. Scamander, the magic this must have taken…”

Newt turned away to hide a smile. If Graves thought this was impressive… “Thank you,” he said, taking a step towards the door. “The animals are actually through-- hey!”

Newt stumbled as something bounded past his feet. He caught his footing, whirled around, and glared when the tiny blur dove under the table. Small nails sounded like nails on a chalkboard as the animal scrambled on the wood floor.

"Which one of you is that?” Newt demanded, falling to his hands and knees to peer beneath the chair legs. He craned his neck, trying to search for the creature’s hiding place, then yelped when it leapt at his face. He brought one hand up to shield his eyes, but the animal changed direction at the last second and shot over his shoulder, landing with a scuttling thud, nails clacking as it tried to gain traction on the floor. Newt grabbed the edge of the table and hoisted himself to his feet, looking wildly for it.

“Mr. Scamander!” Graves sounded alarmed.

“I’m quite alright, Mr. Graves, I just-- gotcha!” Movement in the corner of his room caught his eye, and he lunged across the floor with his arms outstretched. He winced at the sharp pain as he landed with a ricocheting thud and wrapped his hands tightly around the furry creature as it squirmed and clawed at his fingers. Pressed flat on his stomach, Newt raised his hands to look at the animal. The niffler froze and stared back at him like a deer caught in the headlights.

“You.” Newt panted and scowled. “How many times do I have to tell you that the shed is off limits? Alright, empty your pockets. What did you take?”

The niffler wriggled in his grip, reaching a tiny paw into his pouch to pull out a quarter. He waved it at Newt, blinking innocently.

“I don’t think so.” Newt heaved himself up by the elbows and sat cross-legged on the floor. Tipping the creature upside down and holding it by its ankles, he started shaking it, ignoring its indignant squeals. “If you don’t like it, don’t break into my shed!” Knicknacks started raining from the Niffler, mostly things Newt recognized from its nest. And then-- “My compass!” he exclaimed. “You little thief-- whose watch is this?”

“Oh.” Newt glanced up to see Graves lift his bare wrist, a note of surprise on his face. “That would be mine, I think.”

“I’m going to murder you,” Newt muttered out of the corner of his mouth. The niffler raised its hands in a shrug, dangling upside down in Newt’s grip.

Newt picked up the watch from the pile of coins and jewelry, keeping a firm hold on the niffler. He pushed to his feet, wincing when his bruised knees straightened, and walked over to the door. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Graves,” he said over his shoulder, “he’s a bit of a troublemaker, I’m afraid. Always getting into places he doesn’t belong. He doesn’t mean anything by it.”

“It’s quite alright,” Graves said.

Newt opened the door just a little bit and shoved the niffler through. “Stay,” he commanded as it fell to the ground. It poked its head back up and turned to blink at him, almost imploringly, eyes dragging down to look past Newt’s knees to its spoils lying in a discarded heap on the floor.

Newt shut the door with a firm click.

“I’m so sorry,” he said again, walking back over and holding the watch out. Graves accepted it, dark eyebrows drawn tight.

“What exactly was that?” he asked.

“A niffler,” Newt said. “He likes shiny things.” He looked at the room, at the pile of gold and silver and the chairs strewn wildly about, and sighed. “And now I’ll have to clean all of this up.”

He bent down and fished his golden compass out of the pile of coins. He turned it over in his hands, checking for scratches, but it was as immaculate as always. At least the niffler was careful with the things it stole.

“He’s not the first creature I would have liked to introduce you to,” Newt said, chewing on his lip. He couldn’t bear to look at Graves, certain that he had ruined whatever fragile camaraderie had brought him here. “I had hoped to start with someone… less annoying.”

“No, that was fascinating,” Graves said, and a measure of hope blossomed in Newt’s chest. “Really. I didn’t even notice it take my watch.”

“It only means he likes you,” Newt assured him. “Well, he likes your taste in jewelry, at least. I don’t know how he feels about your personality.”

It was a weak joke, but Graves chuckled as he fastened his watch back onto his wrist. Newt smiled down at the compass in his hands and twirled it between his fingers.

“Right,” Newt said, slipping his compass into his trouser pocket. “Let’s get going, then. I’m sure everyone’s starving by now.”

“Lead the way,” Graves said.

Newt hesitated as he turned the doorknob, his wrist stalling. Then he pushed the door open before he could change his mind, and his own little world unfolded underneath his feet.

He jumped down the three steps, touched down on the grass, and stooped to pick up the buckets he had left there. He had never been so nervous about showing someone his case, his life. With Dumbledore, he had been proud. With Jacob and Tina and Queenie he had been confident. With Graves… well, Newt was still sorting through his feelings there.

Newt stepped out of the way as a bellbeetle rolled a rock past, headed for the small mountain behind the shed it had been building for the last few months in anticipation of its third child. Newt smiled as it chirruped a greeting at him, black exoskeleton rippling with every push of the boulder.

“Hello,” Newt said. “It looks great!”

It clicked its pincers in thanks and pushed past, arms straining as it started up the incline.

“What on…?” Newt turned to the voice behind him. Graves walked down the steps in a daze, mouth agape. His eyes moved a mile a minute, up to the billywigs flying overhead, down to the bellbeetle, out to the rolling hills and bright blue sky. Somewhere the nundu screeched its long, shrill yell, clamoring for dinner, but Newt was too focused on Graves to notice any of that now.. “How…?”

“Simple expansion charms,” Newt said, rocking forward onto the balls of his feet. “Well, not simple, it was actually quite, uh, difficult. But it worked in the end, I suppose. Um… come on, the mooncalves were supposed to have dinner two hours ago.”

He turned and started up the hill towards the night habitat, cheeks burning. Picket clung to the fabric of his shirt for stability as he walked, and Newt thought that the tiny creature chirped a word of reassurance in his ear, but he was too busy marinating in his own embarrassment to care.

Newt peeked into the niffler’s nest as he passed, half to check on it, half to glare. It looked up from polishing a sickle and beamed at him, all big eyes and cute innocence. Newt rolled his eyes. No wonder Queenie fawned over it.

“Right through here,” Newt said when they reached the end of the main habitat. He nudged the curtain-like flap open with his shoulder and looked around at Graves, who had lagged behind him. The auror still looked stunned, mouth hanging open as he turned left and right, trying to take everything in. When he saw the opening to the new enclosure and he raised his eyebrows incredulously.

“There’s more?” he asked.

Newt tried to chuckle. “Come on,” he said, ducking inside.

The dark enclosure swallowed them in a wave of quiet night. Artificial stars flickered overhead, constellations hand-picked by Newt glittering in the distance. The space, reserved for newborns who needed calm and for light-sensitive creatures, was peaceful and near silent except for distant chirruping and gurgling.

“Oh.” Graves, too, seem to be affected by the sudden change, his voice dropping to a low whisper that made Newt’s fingers curl around the handles of the bucket.

“You don’t have to whisper,” Newt said, “just be a little quieter. The animals that live here like the calm. It took forever to get the others to understand that, but a lot of them don’t care much for the dark, anyways. The mooncalves are over here. We just had a fresh litter the other day.”

“What are mooncalves?” Graves was closer to Newt now, stepping almost in time with him, so near that Newt checked to make sure the buckets wouldn’t knock into Graves’s legs.

“They’re… well, they’re right there,” Newt said, a smile curling across his lips. As he set one of the buckets down and moved forward, the crowd of mooncalves perked up out of their sleep and swiveled their heads toward him, blinking fatigue out of huge blue eyes. When they heard the clattering pellets in the bucket they started popping up onto their feet, a low clamor arising. Newt laughed.

“Alright,” he said as they swarmed him, rushing to gather around him. He lifted the bucket high out of their reach and laughed again when one nudged the back of his knee, knocking him off balance. “Alright, alright! I know you’re hungry, I’m sorry to keep you waiting. Settle down, loves.” To quiet them, Newt reached into the bucket and pulled out a handful of pellets. Their attention diverted, they watched with dilated pupils as Newt threw the pellets to hang, suspended, above their heads.

Newt turned to look back at Graves, who stood some distance from the group, watching as the mooncalves bobbed their necks up and down, sucking the pellets out of the air. His face had softened into an expression Newt didn’t recognize, and Newt’s chest filled with something both heavy and light, so strong it threatened to replace the air in his lungs and suffocate him.

“Mr. Graves,” he called, pleased when his voice came out steady and even. He held out the bucket to Graves’s questioning look. “Care to try?”

Graves’s eyes darted back to the mooncalves, who had finished the first handful of pellets and were now chirruping for more, reaching up to nudge the underside of the bucket with damp noses. He hesitated.

“No,” he said, “I think it’s best that I leave that to you.”

Newt tried not to let his disappointment show. “Come on,” he said. “They’re very gentle. I promise they won’t hurt you.”

Graves met his eyes. They were so dark Newt couldn’t see his pupils in the dim lighting. Then, after what seemed like hours, he moved forward cautiously, reaching out to accept the bucket from Newt. The mooncalves immediately switched their attention to him, bright noises increasing as they hopped up and down eagerly.

“Just grab a handful,” Newt encouraged when Graves froze, clutching the bucket close to his chest, eyes suddenly wide. “Toss it in the air and they’ll stop. Don’t be scared.”

“I’m not scared,” Graves snapped, and he shoved a hand into the bucket and came back out with pellets. He hesitated before he tossed the pellets out, flinching when the mooncalves surged for them. When they began stretching to nip them out of the air a quick, surprised smile glanced across his face.

“Perfect,” Newt said, and grinned back when Graves turned that smile on him.

“Can I do another?” Graves asked as the pellets began to dwindle again.

“Go ahead,” Newt said. “I owe them for making them wait.” While Graves reached in and fished out some more food, Newt’s eyes scanned the crowd, searching for a certain straggler. He found her huddled at the edge of the group, slightly stooped, eyes mournfully following the pellets bobbing above her head. There was a bandage wrapped around her leg.

“There you are, girl,” Newt said, weaving through the crowd. He crouched in front of her and rolled up his sleeves. “Can I take a look at your foot? Ah, thank you, that’s the ticket.”

The mooncalf dutifully let him lift her right foot. The white bandage had gone grey with dirt, and Newt deftly unwound it and let it fall to the side. He shifted carefully, reaching up to stroke the mooncalf’s flank as he peered at her hoof. The gash near her ankle was still open and raw, but it had healed considerably, the area around it gummy with healing salve.

“Oh, you’re looking beautiful, love,” Newt said. “A few more days and you’ll be good as new, alright? Let me just bandage you up again and we’ll get you some dinner. Are you alright with standing?”

The mooncalf dipped her head in agreement. Newt drew his wand out of his pocket and flicked his wrist, conjuring a new set of bandages. He didn’t bother with more salve; there was only so much that would do, and the wound was already healing well on its own. He positioned the bandage carefully and started wrapping, checking in with the calf as he went.

“That’s not too tight, is it?” he asked as he circled her ankle with the wrapping. “You’re doing wonderfully, love. I know this hurts, but you’re being so brave.”

As he tied the bandage off, the mooncalf extended her head and nudged his shoulder, purring deep in her throat. Newt smiled and lowered her foot gently to the ground, then reached up and scratched the top of her head. Her eyes dipped shut in pleasure. “Hungry?” he asked, and the eyes opened wide again in excitement. He laughed and looked over his shoulder to find Graves watching him, the bucket dangling loosely from his hand.

Newt swallowed. “Could you, uh, pass me a few pieces?” he asked quietly.

Graves moved forward. The mooncalves had had their fill and were now milling about, trying to get the attention of Newt or Graves so they could be pet. Graves reached out with the pellets, and when Newt offered his hand to accept them their fingers brushed and a shiver ran up Newt’s spine.

“Thank you,” he said, dropping his gaze and turning back to the mooncalf. She blinked at him, quizzical. He offered her the handful of pellets and she dipped her head to lick them out of his hand.

“What happened to her?” Graves asked behind him.

“She tripped over a rock,” Newt said, lips quirking up as the mooncalf’s tongue lapped at the palm of his hand. “She’ll be alright. Unfortunately, I can’t get her to stay off of it, so it’s not healing as fast as I’d like. Isn’t that right?”

The mooncalf finished off the last pellet and nudged his fingers with her head. Newt smiled and patted her flank once more, then stood. “I have-- oh.” His words died when he turned and found himself face to face with Graves, so close that their chests were almost brushing. Graves had been standing closer than Newt had thought, and now when Newt raised his eyes he could see every strand of grey shining in his dark hair, and every dip in his face, and the golden undertone of his dark eyes, which were suddenly wide.

“Oh, sorry,” Graves said, stepping hurriedly back. He cleared his throat, opened his mouth to say something, then stopped and shut it again. Newt stared at him, unable to look away from his gaze, as the mooncalves grazed around them, wandering now that their meal was over.

“I should go,” Graves said.

“You don’t have to.”

“No, I… I have things to do. Paperwork, and…” Graves trailed off, eyes straying away from Newt, and a weight Newt hadn’t noticed lifted from his shoulders.

“Okay,” he said.

“Thank you, Mr. Scamander,” Graves said, passing over the bucket. Newt took it. “This was very interesting.”

“Anytime,” Newt said a little too quickly. “Really, if you ever want to stop by--”

“I appreciate that,” Graves said. His smile seemed forced. “I can show myself out.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. “ Graves backed away towards the exit. “I’ll see you tomorrow, perhaps?”

“Yes.”

Graves dipped his head, reaching behind him for the curtain. Brilliant sunlight streamed behind him, touching his hair with golden rays. “Good evening, Mr. Scamander.”

“Goodnight, Mr. Graves,” Newt said softly.

Graves turned, then seemed to hesitate, one foot out in the daylight beyond. Newt watched him, half hoping, but then Graves stepped out and the curtain swung shut behind him, leaving Newt in darkness once more.

Legs unsteady, Newt walked over to a nearby rock and sat down, staring at the closed flap. The bucket sank into the wet grass and an owl cooed above him, swooping through the air. A mooncalf wandered over and pressed its head into his lap, and Newt raised a hand to absently scratch behind its ears. His mind was bubbling, practically frothing with the evening, running through every word Graves had said, every movement he had made, lingering on the image he had struck standing there with the bright sunlight illuminating him from behind, and Newt noted his suddenly racing heart and thudding pulse, wondering what it was.

Then he recognized it for what it was, and an exciting, sickening lurch made him suddenly queasy.

“Shit,” he said out loud, the curse unfamiliar but therapeutic.

The mooncalf hummed its agreement.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I am so sorry for the slow update. Honestly, I went on vacation (which was AMAZING, thank you for all the lovely well-wishes) and when I got back I literally could not write this. I had zero inspiration, and it took me a while to get back in the groove of it, so I apologize but it won't happen again! Regular updates should recommence.
> 
> In other news, Gramander is HEATING UP on Pinterest! It feels like every time I check in there's new fanart and I'm so excited. Our humble little ship is sailing, people! Well, not canonically, but we'll just ignore that and keep reading fanfiction for now, right? 
> 
> I can't tell you how excited I am to have over 600 kudos!!! Honestly, what?? How?? That's so crazy, and thank you all so much for every one and every wonderful comment you leave. You guys are honestly the loveliest people and I enjoy hearing from everyone!
> 
> Hope you enjoyed the chapter, and I hope you have a wonderful day! Remember to take a moment and smile today :)


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You know, I don’t think I’ve ever heard you apologize, Mr. Graves,” he said, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips.
> 
> “Well,” Percival said, “I normally have so little to apologize for.”
> 
> Scamander laughed, a startling sound that seemed too sharp and abrupt for his normally gentle demeanor, and Percival found himself smiling sheepishly.

_Aemulator_

**Percival**

“Mr. Graves, my plan will cut interdepartmental spending by at _least_ eleven percent, and with the way this economy is going--”

“Bentridge, this really isn’t the time.” Percival strode over to his desk and rifled through his papers, scanning sheet after sheet of frivolity. “Didn’t I ask you to get that report from this morning?”

“No,” Bentridge said. Although her expression was carefully professional, there was a hard, annoyed set to her mouth. “Sir, you’ve been putting off this meeting for weeks now. It’s important that we act now before paychecks go out--”

“Someone was supposed to get me that report,” Percival muttered. He flicked his wrist and a filing cabinet behind his desk sprang open. He peered inside, looking over the files. “Where is it?”

“Sir, if you would just take a look at this plan--”

“Do it, Bentridge!” Percival slammed the drawer shut and whirled around. Bentridge looked taken aback, dark eyes widening. “I trust your plan, I’m sure it’s great, go do your plan, alright?” He strode past her and threw open the door to his office, shouting, “Who the _hell_ was supposed to deliver that report to me?”

His aurors all turned to look at him, clutching their files and paperwork with defensive shock. Percival curled his lip and stared hard at them, waiting for the guilty party to speak up. A movement caught the corner of his eye and he looked over, ready to snap, but a second later that feeling died and his chest pinched sharply.

“Scamander,” he said.

The man was standing just beside his door, mouth open in a small ‘O’ of surprise. He was clenching his suitcase tightly in both hands.

“They, um, told me you were busy,” Scamander said.

“I’m not,” Percival said. He was painfully aware that the entire department was staring at them, and judging by the red in Scamander’s cheeks, so was he. “You can come in.”

Scamander ducked his head and hurried past him into his office. Percival gripped the doorknob and turned back to his department, narrowing his eyes once more. The few aurors who had believed themselves off the hook straightened up again.

“Someone had better hand me that report in the next ten minutes,” he said, his voice low but resounding, “or the only _spending cuts_ we’ll be making will be on your paychecks. Does that sound like a plan, Bentridge?”

“I think someone needs another cup of coffee,” Bentridge muttered as she swept past him, chin high in the air. Percival glared at her back, then swung his office door shut with a loud bang.

“Unbelievable,” he muttered. “I ask them to do one simple thing… Have a seat, Scamander.”

Scamander dropped into the chair in front of Percival’s desk. He peered at Percival over the top of his case as Percival paced to the windows and back again, too jittery to sit still. He was as on edge as he had ever been; every move he made was jolted, every thought half finished and pulsing with nerves he refused to let show.

“Are you alright?” Scamander’s voice was careful, so careful and soft that Percival couldn’t stand it.

“I’m fine,” Percival snapped. “Just peachy. Absolutely spiffing. Isn’t that what they say where you’re from? I’m bloody spiffing fine.”

“That’s one way to put it, I suppose.”

“I don’t even know why I pay them at all.” Percival clasped his hands behind his back and glowered out the window, forcing himself to be still. Outside the sky was grey and cloudy, and the streets were almost empty at this time of the morning. “Ruddy useless, the lot of them.”

Scamander didn’t say anything. Percival watched a No-Maj child dart across the street, bright red coat flashing in the monochrome world. “Goldstein isn’t here,” Percival said. “She’s out making an arrest.”

“I know,” Scamander said. “I, uh… well, I heard about what happened.”

“How?”

“Queenie,” Scamander said. He rapped his fingers on his suitcase like he was playing a piano, quick from finger to finger, as jumpy as Percival felt. The frantic noise did little to calm Percival’s nerves. “Tina’s sister?”

“The legilimens.”

“Yes,” Scamander said. “She came to work, and she passed an auror, and… well, she went to get me.”

“Alright,” Percival said, looking to the window again. He didn’t feel like explaining it, but Scamander was technically part of the team. “What do you want to know?”

“Huh?”

“What do you want to know?” Percival wasn’t able to keep the impatience out of his voice. “Why are you here, what do you need to know? I don’t have time to just sit around.”

“Oh, I-- I don’t need to know anything, Mr. Graves.” Scamander sounded surprised. “I just wanted to check in.”

“Why?”

“Um,” Scamander said, and he sounded awkward even for him. “Well, I wanted to see if you needed anything, or…?”

Percival was glad his back was turned. He stared out at the puffs of cotton in the sky, throat tightening. Scamander sounded as though he was honestly inquiring, and Percival didn’t think the man had it in him to try any mind games or dirty tricks. No one had been worried about Percival, even just politely so, in years.

“I’m perfectly fine, Mr. Scamander,” Percival said.

“Oh,” Scamander said, “okay.” There was a pause. The air felt suddenly heavy. “I… do you want to talk about it?”

“Do I what?”

“I don’t know,” Scamander said, and there was that tense awkwardness again.“My brother always-- he’s an auror too, and he used to like to talk his cases through with me. He said it helped him think.”

Percival looked at him, sweeping his gaze over the jiggling knee and the sharp curve of his jaw. Scamander was all sharp angles, cheekbones and elbows and knees that turned inward, but there was still a softness to him that Percival struggled to place. Maybe it was in his eyes, or his hesitant smiles, or the way he ducked his head when he laughed. Maybe it was just him.

“Your brother’s an auror?” Percival asked, forcing the words out over his thoughts, which had begun to stray into dangerous territory. Now was really not the time.

Scamander fidgeted like he always did when put under close scrutiny. “Yes,” he said.

“Wait,” Percival said, because now he remembered, “Theseus, correct? War hero?”

Another fidget. Softer this time, “Yes.”

Ah, yes. Scamander didn’t like to talk about his brother.  Percival turned back to the window, trying to make Scamander feel more at ease. It always seemed to help him when Percival didn’t make eye contact, even though Percival could spend all day holding his gaze.

“Well, you know about the disappearance,” Percival said. The No-Maj child outside was still in the street, splashing in a puddle in front of the laundromat. The red flashed. “Lucinda Tresenbloom. Worked here, in the law office. She was a great attorney.” Percival tilted his head back to look up at the gloomy sky. “She left work last night and never got home. Her roommate notified the auror office early this morning.”

“Are they certain it’s…” Scamander’s voice was soft again.

“They’re certain of who they want to blame,” Percival said. He shoved his hands in his pockets. “The roommate swears that Lucinda would never just disappear, and everyone in her office agrees. That means it was foul play, and the only foul play that’s been going on around here lately…” A bit of residual annoyance bubbled up in him. “And so I get called into Picquery’s office before I even know what the hell is going on, and she threatens to fire me _yet again_ \--” Percival pressed his eyes closed before he could continue. He didn’t want to go off in front of Scamander.

“What?” Scamander sounded shocked. “Wait, she’s threatening to fire you?”

Percival turned to look at him. The suitcase was still perched on his lap, but Scamander had stopped fiddling with it. His eyes were fixed on Percival with an intensity that had never been there before, and suddenly Percival felt nervous.

“Well,” he said, “it’s my job to catch this thing, and I haven’t done it.”

“But no one else has, either.” Scamander leaned forward, earnest. “You have an entire team working with you and no one knows anything. This creature is highly intelligent.”

“Yes, well,” Percival said, cheeks burning. “It’s still my job. And after that whole mess with Grindelwald, the powers at large aren’t very pleased with me.”

Scamander furrowed his eyebrows in bewilderment. “What has that got to do with anything?”

Percival bit the inside of his cheek. He would have thought Scamander was messing with him had it been anyone else, but he obviously didn’t understand. “The director of magical law enforcement cannot get… _kidnapped_.” The room was uncomfortably warm. “It’s… a joke.” The word popped out before he could stop it, but Percival couldn’t take it back. It was true, even if he hadn’t said it aloud before.

“Don’t.” Scamander’s voice was sharper now. “That’s ridiculous. What happened with Grindelwald is _not_ your fault.”

Percival dropped his gaze to the ground, hands clasped tightly behind his back. “Mr. Scamander, that’s very kind of you, but--”

“No,” Scamander said, and Percival was so stunned that Scamander had dared interrupt him that he shut his mouth. “Mr. Graves, I deal with poachers all the time, people that kidnap innocent creatures so they can profit off of them. The one thing that all of them have in common is that they _don’t play fair_. Animals have a certain instinct to them. They do what they’re supposed to do, go where they’re supposed to go- but sometimes these poachers cheat, and they sneak up on them, and they get them. And it’s not the animal’s fault.”

“Mr. Scamander,” Percival said, “are you comparing me to an animal?”

Red flooded Scamander’s cheeks. He opened his mouth, eyes wide with panic, until he saw that Percival was smiling indulgently. He relaxed again, his lips quirking into a sheepish grin.

“I suppose so,” he said. “I do have a point, though. Grindelwald doesn’t play by the rules. He didn’t with me or Credence, and he didn’t with you. And none of us are to be blamed for what happened to us.”

Percival stared at Scamander, and Scamander held his gaze, and even though Percival wasn’t quite convinced, the knot that had kept his chest tied up these past few months loosened just a little.

“Thank you,” he said, quietly.

Scamander smiled at him. It was that gentle, genuine smile that he always directed at Goldstein or his creatures, far different from the awkward twitch he put on in public. It did something funny to Percival’s chest, and he had to look away.

“That doesn’t change the fact that I’m a minor infraction away from being fired, though,” he said.

“Oh, that one’s easy,” Scamander said. “We just need to find that creature, and then you’ll be a hero. Problem solved.”

“Ah, yes,” Percival said, “problem solved. Do I have to remind you that we’ve been searching for this thing for weeks and we still aren’t any closer to figuring it out?”

“Yes, I know,” Scamander said, “but now we have a lead.”

“We do?”

“We need to check out this lawyer. Maybe we’ll learn something. Don’t look at me like that,” Scamander warned. He got to his feet, letting his case swing beside him. “We’ll find something. I’m going to go and find Tina, and then we’ll head to the law offices and talk to some of her coworkers, alright?”

“Fine,” Percival said as Scamander turned to head towards the door, an odd inflection to his voice.

Scamander paused halfway there. He looked over his shoulder with a frown. “What?” he asked.

“Nothing,” Percival said. And then he thought, _screw it_. “I just like it when you’re confident.”

He didn’t think Scamander had ever been more red in his entire life.

XXXXX

“We really don’t know anything, Percival.” Lilliana shrugged, mouth twisted apologetically. “She was here yesterday, and she’s not here today. That’s all that I know. Say, have you spoken to her roommate yet?”

“She’s the one who reported her missing,” Graves said. “Why?”

“They were awful close,” Lilliana said. “If anyone knows what happened, it’ll be her. Nice girl. She came in a few times, to visit and all that.”

“Does she work in the Ministry?”

“I don’t think so. I believe she wants to be a professor at Ilvermorny. She’s doing an independent study or something, traveling a lot. Lucinda talked about it sometimes, but…” Lilliana adjusted her glasses and tilted her head so her dark hair spilled over her shoulder. She tried to smile. “Listen, try to find her, alright? She’s a good woman.”

“We’ll try,” Percival said. “Maybe she’ll turn up on her own.”

“We can hope,” Lilliana said. “Now then, did you happen to leave that young man you came with by the reception desk?”

Percival frowned. “Scamander?” he asked. “Yes.”

Lilliana smiled and rested her elbows on her desk. “Poor choice,” she said. “He’s just Jan’s type.”

Percival spun in his seat. The door to Lilliana’s office was slightly ajar, and through the opening he could just make out the bright blue of Scamander’s coat at the front desk to the department of Magical Law. Percival tilted further in his seat and saw a woman leaning across it, one hand creeping closer and closer to Scamander’s.

“Goodness, Percival, you mustn’t look so murderous.” Lilliana laughed when he turned back around to glare at her. “People will get the wrong idea.”

“Lilliana.”

“Oh, I’m just teasing you.” Lilliana waved a hand and leaned back in her seat. “He’s very cute.”

“ _L_ _illiana_.”

“What, I can’t joke with you anymore?”

“It’s not- it isn’t-”

“Wow, he’s even got you flustered. You must formally introduce me to this man of yours.”

Percival stood abruptly. “Goodbye, Lilliana.”

“I’m just _teasing_ , Percival, lighten up! I saw the way you were looking at him when you two first came in, so I-”

“It isn’t _like_ that.” The dangerous snarl finally shut Lilliana up. She straightened, the smile slipping off her face.

“Oh,” she said. “My apologies.”

Percival clenched his fist around nothing and dropped his glare to his shoes, trying to ignore his quickening heart. “Tell me if you hear anything else.”

“I will,” Lilliana said. “I’m sorry, Percival.”

“It’s fine,” he murmured, then turned and strode to the door, shoving it open with his shoulder.

Both Scamander and the receptionist looked up, startled. When she saw the murderous expression on Percival’s face, the woman released her hold on Scamander’s coat, a hold that she had been using to pull him closer to her across the desk. They sprang apart. Scamander’s face was pink.

“If you are done _flirting_ ,” Percival said through gritted teeth, “I do believe we have a _job_ to get back to, Scamander. Tina said she would meet us in my office. Come on.”

He pushed past Scamander without looking at the receptionist, and when their shoulders brushed Percival ignored the spark of heat that settled in his abdomen. Behind him he heard the scrawl of a quill, and then the receptionist saying, “Drop by anytime.”

Percival pushed through the door and into the hallway without bothering to check if Scamander was following. He was halfway down the hall when the magizoologist finally caught up to him, panting and clinging to his suitcase with one hand and a crumpled piece of paper in the other.

“What happened?” he asked.

“Nothing happened,” Percival said. “She didn’t know anything.”

“Oh,” Scamander said. “Then why-?”

“I have nothing that I want to discuss with you, Scamander,” Percival growled without looking at him.

Scamander fell quiet as they rounded a corner and mounted the stairs that led to the atrium. Then- “Don’t you want to hear what I found out?”

“What, that witch’s home address?”

“No! Well- yes, but, I didn’t ask for that, and that’s certainly not what we were talking about, I don’t even know why she gave that to me, we were just discussing-”

“I have absolutely zero interest in your love life, Scamander.”

They reached the elevator at the end of the hall and Percival stabbed the button. He looked up and glared at the arrow as it started to glide smoothly towards their floor number. The machinery whirred quietly in the empty hall.

“We weren’t _talking_ about that,” Scamander insisted. “We were talking about Lucinda.” When Percival didn’t respond, he pushed on. “Jan says that she always struck her as a touch sad.”

“Oh, is that what _Jan_ says?”

“It was just funny, the way that she said it. ‘I always thought she was a touch sad.’ It reminded me of what Ms. Patriclan said, about Randy Simmons? It was the same description.”

The elevator dinged as it arrived and the doors slid open. Percival stepped inside, ignoring the inquiring look of the house elf inside.

“Wonderful, Scamander,” he said. “It appears that you’re just as good of a detective as you are a flirter.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“It means- what the hell are we supposed to do with this information, Scamander? Picquery would literally kill me if I walked in and told her that my only connection between the subjects was that they were both _a little sad_. ‘Yes, Madame President, I assure you that both victims were a touch moody.’”

Scamander frowned at him. “Have I done something to upset you?”

“No,” Percival said. “Let’s just go pick up Goldstein and go talk to the roommate. We’re already running late.” Percival furrowed his brow and looked around. The elevator doors were still wide open. “Why aren’t we moving?” he demanded.

“You never gave me a floor, sir,” the house elf croaked.

“Atrium,” Scamander said with that small smile he reserved for Goldstein and creatures- and maybe _Jan_ , if she was lucky.

The bell that dinged as the doors slid closed was so cheerful it made Percival want to blast it to pieces.

XXXXX

“Can I get you something to drink? Coffee? Um, tea?”

“No, thank you,” Goldstein said politely.

Scamander, seated opposite Percival at the scratched kitchen table, gazed idly at the pile of books in the center of it. “Tea would be lovely,” he said.

The woman looked almost relieved. She got up and stepped to the stove, grabbing a pot off one of the burners and pointing the tip of her wand into it. “ _Aguamenti_ ,” she said, watching carefully as it filled to the top. When it was ready she flicked her wrist and a fire sprang up underneath it. She turned back to them and crossed her arms tightly, defensively.

“I don’t know anything.”

“Ms. Fredrickson-”

“Annie.”

“Annie,” Percival said. “You reported your roommate missing before she had been gone more than twelve hours. Isn’t that a bit strange?”

“I know Lucinda,” Annie said. Her eyes darted from him to Scamander to Goldstein, nervous even though her squared shoulders made her appear confident. “She wouldn’t just disappear.”

“Still,” Goldstein said, “isn’t there a possibility that she could just be doing something? That maybe she had plans that you didn’t know about?”

“No,” Annie said. “She’s missing.”  
Goldstein glanced at him, and the expression in her eyes said that she gave up. Percival resisted the urge to look at Scamander even though he knew the other man wouldn’t meet his gaze. Scamander hadn’t looked at him properly since the elevator incident.

“Annie, it’s just that it’s a touch… odd that you are so quick to point to foul play.”

Annie leaned forward, eyes narrowing. A heavy-set, curly haired woman in her early forties, she was proving to have quite the threatening glare.

“She. Would. Have. Told. Me,” she said, her words laced with acid.

“Annie, have you any pets?”

Percival glanced at Scamander, exasperated. The man was leaned all the way back in his seat, the picture of leisure, looking around the tiny apartment’s kitchen like he had never seen anything quite like it. He had draped his coat over the back of his wooden chair, so he was wearing just his white button-down.

Annie’s taught defensiveness seemed to relax somewhat. “We have a cat. Well, Lucy has a cat,” she amended. “She brought her here when we just moved in. She’s probably hiding. She doesn’t like visitors.”

Scamander smiled. “I love cats,” he said. “Do you mind if I try and coax her out?”

Annie shrugged. “Go right ahead,” she said.

Scamander got up and wandered away, disappearing into the living room. Percival heard him making some weird kind of crooning noise a moment later. He tried to ignore him.

“Did your roommate have any enemies that you know of?” he asked.

Annie snorted. “Lucy? Of course not. Everyone loved her.”

“So there’s no one that would have wanted to see her hurt?” Tina prompted.

“Of course not,” Annie said, scathing.

“We’re just trying to figure out how foul play could have fit into this if--” Percival started.

“Don’t try that on me, _Mr. Graves_. I know exactly what happened. It was that damn creature that everyone’s in a tiff about! The one that’s snatching off magical folk left and right, that’s what took her!”

The water on the stove was boiling. Annie pointed her wand angrily at it and the fire cut out abruptly.

“And,” she continued, turning back around to brandish her wand at Tina and Percival, “I thought it was _your_ job to try and stop this thing so people like Lucy don’t get snatched out of their beds in the middle of the night!”

“Annie, I can assure you that-“

“Found her!”

They all looked up to see Scamander re-enter holding a large orange tabby cat. It was a massive creature, almost a foot long in length, but Scamander was cradling it as though it were a baby.

“Goodness, you found Millie.” Annie looked surprised. “She hates everyone that isn’t Lucy.”

“Well, I have a certain affinity for animals,” Scamander said. He smiled down at Millie, who nuzzled his shoulder with a tiny pink nose. “All these people just made Millie a little nervous, isn’t that right, Millie?”

The cat meowed and tried to bury her head into the crook of Scamander’s elbow.

“Oh, is the tea ready?” Scamander asked, looking back at Annie, who had been gazing at the cat. The woman blinked and seemed to come out of some kind of daze.

“Oh, yes,” she said. She opened a cupboard and pulled down a chipped white mug and a metal canister labeled ‘Tea Leaves.’ “Milk, sugar?”

“Please,” Scamander said, rocking back and forth and making small clicking noises. The cat meowed appreciatively.

Percival caught Goldstein’s eye as Annie prepared the tea. She looked just as bewildered by this turn of events as he did.

“Annie-“ Tina started.

“Here’s your tea, Mr….”

“Scamander,” he said, “but please, call me Newt.”

“Newt.” Annie smiled and offered him the mug of tea. “Interesting name.”

“Well, my parents are an interesting pair. Besides, we’re British, funny names are a thing of national pride. Here, I’ll trade you.”

Percival missed the exact acrobatics of the endeavor, but they managed to switch cat and mug, and then Annie was clutching Millie to her chest and cooing and Newt was absently blowing on his mug of tea.

“Oh, there you are, sweet girl,” Annie said in a tone that was surprisingly gentle. “Oh, she never lets me hold her when Lucy isn’t around.”

“Some animals are just very particular, it’s nothing personal,” Scamander said. “I have a snortpop who doesn’t even let her mother touch her. Let me tell you, that did not go over well with Belinda. She likes to hug her children.”

“Snortpop?” Annie looked faintly bemused.

“Kind of an aardvark looking creature? Except they can fit into the palm of your hand, and they have a tentacle-like snout that comes down sort of like this.” Scamander waggled his fingers in front of his nose. Annie laughed.

“They sound fascinating.”

“Oh, they are. Wonderfully intelligent creatures.” Scamander sipped his tea. “Annie, do you think you could tell us the last time that you saw Lucinda?”

Annie tightened her grip on Millie. The cat wiggled in her grasp but didn’t try to escape.

“Alright,” she said. Goldstein glanced at Percival again and he shrugged helplessly but didn’t say anything. It seemed that they were better off leaving the talking to Scamander.

Percival _never_ thought he would say that.

“It was when she left for work yesterday,” Annie said. “I’m doing an independent study, trying to get my credentials to teach Charms, so I always sleep in. But Lucy wakes up at six in the morning- she’s an early bird, you see- and goes bustling around the bedroom and the kitchen, so it always wakes me up. And yesterday, let’s see… she made a pot of coffee, asked if I wanted anything for breakfast. I said no, so she said that she was going to try this new bakery off of Third that everyone’s been raving about.”

“Kowalski’s,” Scamander said with a tiny smile.

“That’s the one, yes. So she got ready, and I stayed in bed, and then…” Annie hesitated. “Then she said goodbye and she left.”

Percival narrowed his eyes. Something about that seemed incomplete, but before he could ask Scamander said, “And that was it?”

“Yes,” Annie said. “And then she didn’t come home. And I know it’s weird to file a person as missing when they haven’t even been gone a full day, but I _know_ Lucy, I just know her, and she would never disappear like this and make me worry if there wasn’t something wrong. She would have sent me a message or gotten in touch or-“

“I know.” Scamander’s voice was soft, reassuring. “I believe you.”

Annie’s shoulders dropped. She bent down to place Millie on the ground, and the cat immediately wandered over to twine herself between Scamander’s feet, nuzzling his ankle.

“Thank you,” Annie whispered. “I… thank you.”

“Annie, I know that it’s hard, but is there anything else you’d like to tell us? Has Lucy been acting unusually lately? Is there anything at all, any detail, that might help us?”

Annie hesitated. “Well, I don’t like to air our dirty laundry, but… well, if it’ll help.”

“It will,” Scamander said.

“Lucy’s been… off, recently.” Annie crossed her arms again, the move more uncertain than defensive now. She chewed on her lower lip. “She’s very… _bright_ , usually. She absolutely glows. But in the past few months she’s been… well, different.”

“Different how?” Scamander pressed.

Annie tried to smile. “Sad, I guess,” she said. “She’s been eating less, spending more time locked up in the bedroom. We haven’t gone out as much.”

“Sad,” Scamander murmured, and he finally looked at Percival, just a glancing look that made the hard knot of guilt that had settled in Percival’s stomach tighten.

“Yes,” Annie said, “and she hasn’t talked to me about anything, so I don’t know what it is.”

“Of course,” Scamander said. “Thank you, Annie. That’s very helpful.”

Annie looked nervously between him and Percival and Goldstein. “Do you… have you got a plan?”

“I’m actually a close friend of Mr. Kowalski, who owns the bakery Annie said she would go to,” Scamander said. “I’ll stop by and ask if she came in that morning. From there, we’ll continue to talk to people at the Ministry and se who was the last person to see her before she left.”

“Okay,” Annie said. “Alright.”

Scamander tilted his head at her. “Annie?”

Annie blinked at him, clutching her cardigan tightly around her. She swallowed. “Just… find her, please?” She blinked quicker, biting down so hard on her bottom lip Percival was afraid she might hurt it. “Please, I- this isn’t like her, there’s something wrong, she’s in danger-“

“I know, Annie. Don’t worry, we’ll find her.”

“Please, you need to make sure she’s okay, if she’s hurt I’ll-“ Annie shook her head rapidly and sniffed. “Oh, god, she can’t be hurt.”

“Annie.” Scamander set his mug down and stepped closer, and then he reached out and laid a hand on Annie’s arm, and Percival stared because Scamander never initiated physical touch with anything except animals. For god’s sake, he jumped out of his skin when Percival stood too close to him. “I promise that we’ll find her.”

Annie laid her hand on his and smiled through mounting tears.

As they left, Millie the cat mewling in despair behind them as Scamander walked away, Percival stepped close to him and murmured, “You shouldn’t make promises you can’t keep, Scamander.”

“I don’t,” Scamander said without looking at him. Then he strode down the hall after Goldstein, leaving Percival standing in the middle of the hall, staring as the blue coat disappeared.

XXXXX

Percival prepared his own dinner that night. He normally picked something up on his way home, but he had been so worn out by the day that he had just apparated directly back to his apartment. After returning from Annie’s apartment, Percival had had just fifteen minutes of time to himself to write up a report and do some thinking before Picquery had come in once more to chew him out.

“This is _unacceptable_ , Percival!” she had shouted at him. “I’ve got parents writing me asking how they can keep their children safe from the New York Monster! _Fix this_!”

Percival pinched the bridge of his nose and tried to breathe, to relax the growing discomfort in his shoulders. He needed a massage. Or maybe a new job.

His apartment seemed larger than usual tonight, and twice as empty. Every sound he made was amplified a thousand times in the distant corners of the space. He pulled out a piece of bread and toasted it with a wave of his wand, and then buttered it, and then decided that he didn’t want it and dropped it in the trash. He searched fruitlessly through his pantry for something to eat and finally settled on a jar of expensive olives a colleague had brought him from Italy. He unscrewed the lid and pulled out a fork and sat down at his kitchen table.

They were small and bitter, and each bite made him screw up his face to ward off the assault of salt on his senses. He rested his elbows on the counter and prodded at the olives, watching them bounce up and down in the oil. He sighed.

He tried to run through the day again, but he had already exhausted himself doing that. It had been a long one. Two confrontations with Picquery, one with Scamander- god, Scamander. He hadn’t even spoken to Percival after leaving Annie’s apartment. He and Goldstein had left together, chatting and laughing like neither had a care in the world, and had left Percival behind to write up the official report and muddle through the rest of the day.

Maybe Scamander would go to _Jan’s_ tonight. Percival stabbed an olive.

When he couldn’t eat anymore Percival screwed the lid on the jar and left it there, wandering off into his living room. He stood for a moment in front of the bookcase and wished that he had something new to read. Then he shuffled over to his sofa and sank into, tipped his head back and tried to relax, but he was too on edge, and eventually his thoughts wandered back to the expression on Scamander’s face when Percival had yelled at him earlier.

Percival groaned into the silence. Maybe he should just go to bed.

Percival walked into his bedroom, kicked off his shoes and socks, and started towards bed without undressing. He collapsed into it, pressing back into the billowy pillow and comforter, and shut his eyes. After a moment he turned his head towards his night table to turn off the lamp, and his eyes caught on something green.

He frowned and sat up. It was a book. He grabbed it and glanced at the cover, and then groaned again, louder.

“Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them,” he muttered.

“Fine,” he said aloud, dropping the book back onto the table. “Fine.” He got up again, grabbed his coat off the chair he had dropped it on earlier, and rifled through it for his wand. Then he tugged the jacket on and raised his wand and rolled his eyes, and then he twisted on his heel and disappeared with a _crack_.

He landed off balance in the hall. He looked around nervously at all the closed doors and hoped that no-one had heard him. He had only been here once to fetch Goldstein for an emergency, and he hoped that he had the address right.

Straightening up and tugging on his coat to make sure he was presentable, he took a deep breath and knocked.

It was a few moments before the door clicked open, and when it did Percival found himself staring at one of the most beautiful women he had ever seen. He blinked. She blinked.

“Mr. Graves,” she said, sounding surprised, and then Percival recognized her- Goldstein’s sister, the legilimens. He quickly called upon his very limited experience with occlumency and threw up a hasty mind shield.

“Miss Goldstein,” he said. “I’m terribly sorry to intrude.”

“Are you looking for Tina?”

“No,” Percival said, glancing over her shoulder into the apartment. The lighting was warm and inviting, and he could hear people talking within. This had been a mistake. “I was actually wondering if Mr. Scamander was here?”

She raised an eyebrow. Without looking away from him, she called, “Newt, you have a visitor.”

Percival shifted uncomfortably as Scamander’s head appeared behind Miss Goldstein. He looked confused, and when he saw Percival he blinked and looked even more bewildered.

“Mr. Graves?” he asked.

Percival swallowed. “I wondered if I might have a word with you.”

“Come in, Mr. Graves,” Miss Goldstein said, opening the door wider and stepping aside. Percival entered, trying to look like he knew what he was doing, and glanced around the small apartment. It was like stepping into a bath of warm firelight; it was one of the coziest places Percival had ever seen. He glanced at the kitchen and saw that the table was laid with half-eaten plates. Goldstein and the No-Maj baker were both seated there, looking at Percival curiously.

“Oh,” Percival said. “I’m so sorry. I can come back another time.”

“No, not at all!” Miss Goldstein had apparently gotten over her momentary surprise and was now smiling, hands clasped in front of her. “You ought to join us. Jacob has the most wonderful dessert prepared.”

“Thank you, but I don’t want to impose,” Percival said.

“Not at all! Come, sit down.”

“Thank you, Miss Goldstein, but I really only came to speak to Mr. Scamander for a moment.”

He looked at Scamander, who was staring openly at him. He was dressed casually in an untucked white shirt and a pair of loose trousers Percival had never seen before, and his hair was tousled in a way that made Percival swallow.

“We can, uh, step into my case.” Scamander gestured over his shoulder.

“If you want to finish your dinner first-“

“No, that’s alright, I’m finished.” Scamander glanced at the table, caught the No-Maj’s eye, and Percival felt as though he was some terrible intruder. What had he been thinking?

“It will only be a moment,” he said.

“No problem at all,” Scamander said. “Come on.”

The case was lying on the couch, carefully propped up against one of the pillows. Scamander took it and laid it on the coffee table, then lifted the hinges. He looked at Percival again, curiously, and then stepped inside. Percival watched, still not used to seeing Scamander’s leg disappear all the way inside of it.

When the top of Scamander’s head disappeared, Percival hurried to climb into it as well, not looking at the other people in the apartment, who had fallen silent. He found the first rung on the ladder and lowered himself down, checking to make sure that he wouldn’t be stepping on some kind of creature.

“I’m sorry for interrupting your meal,” Percival said when he had reached the bottom and turned around.         

“Don’t apologize, Mr. Graves,” Scamander said. His eyes dropped from Percival’s face down, far down, and Percival felt the back of his neck heating, and then Scamander said, “You aren’t wearing any shoes.”

Percival looked down and realized that, yes, his feet were bare, and yes, he hadn’t noticed it.

“Oh,” he said. “I’m not.”

Scamander looked back up at him, squinting in a thoughtful way. “Are you alright, Mr. Graves?”

“I’m fine,” Percival said. “I just wanted to apologize.”

Scamander frowned. “What for?”

“For my attitude earlier. I was under a lot of stress, and- I’m not trying to make excuses, I was awful, but I just wanted you to know that it wasn’t anything that you did.”

“You mean at the law office.”

“Yes.”

“You came here this late, without your shoes, just to apologize to me?”

“Yes.”

Scamander tilted his head, and a stray curl fell across his forehead. Percival stared at it.

“You know, I don’t think I’ve ever heard you apologize, Mr. Graves,” he said, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

“Well,” Percival said, “I normally have so little to apologize for.”

Scamander laughed, a startling sound that seemed too sharp and abrupt for his normally gentle demeanor, and Percival found himself smiling sheepishly. “Alright, that might be a lie,” he said.

“I didn’t say that, Mr. Graves. I’m sure you’re very humble in your apologies.”

“Now you’re just making fun.”

Scamander smiled and reached up to tuck the curl behind his ear, out of the way. “Well, I accept this one,” he said. “And I appreciate you coming here to make it.”

Some of the tension that had been haunting Percival all day drained from his shoulders. He curled his bare toes into the cold wood of the floor. “Good,” he said. “Good.”

“If I might ask, though,” Scamander said. “I know you were under stress, but… I mean, what made you so…” He was struggling for the word, and Percival shifted uncomfortably.

“Just stress,” he said.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

Scamander looked doubtful, but he didn’t push it, and Percival was grateful. “Alright,” he said.

“I also came to thank you,” Percival said, “for what you did with Annie earlier. You really helped.”

Scamander shrugged. “I just talked to her.”

“Yes, but you talked to her the way that she needed. Goldstein and I wouldn’t have been able to do that. So, thank you.”

“It was nothing,” Scamander said.

“It was definitely not nothing.”

“I know how it feels.” Scamander wouldn’t look at him now, and Percival frowned. Scamander had been better with eye contact lately, so when he couldn’t meet Percival’s eye Percival had learned to recognize it as nerves or anxiety. “You know, to have someone you love in danger.”

“Oh.”

Scamander dropped his gaze to his feet. His hair shifted and the light from the lamp on the table hit him in just the right way and his freckles seemed to shine in it, and _oh,_ Percival had known for a while now, had recognized his mounting affection for what it was, but he had been doing a wonderful job of pushing it away until now.

This was bad.

“I, uh, I’ve done some more research,” Scamander said, still not looking at him. “On the creature. Do you want to see it?”

“No,” Percival said, because he was selfish and maybe a touch masochistic. “I’ve kept you long enough. Could you bring it by my office tomorrow?”

Scamander looked up at him, lips parted just slightly, and Percival tried not to stare at them. “Sure,” he said.

“Perfect,” Percival said.

Scamander’s shed was tiny and cluttered and most of his things were buried underneath a thin layer of potting soil, but looking at him here Percival realized that he was in his element. That Scamander belonged here, and he fit so well here that Percival thought he could stare at him forever.

“You really should stay for dessert,” Scamander blurted out. “Jacob made cannolis, and they’re absolutely wonderful. And even though I don’t like coffee Queenie still makes a really great pot of it, and I’m sure that you would enjoy-“

“Thank you, Mr. Scamander,” Percival said, “but I really should be getting home. My feet are a touch cold.”

“Oh,” Scamander said. He looked at Percival’s bare feet again and laughed, eyes crinkling at the corners. “Right.”

Percival hesitated, and then turned and mounted the ladder again. He wanted to stay- oh, _god_ , he wanted to stay- but if he lingered even a moment longer he was afraid he would do something he’d regret. So he climbed up and away from Scamander and his cozy space and the possibilities, and back to reality.

“We’re serving dessert, Mr. Graves,” Miss Goldstein called out as he clambered off of the coffee table.

“I really must be going, Miss Goldstein, but thank you very much for the offer.”

Scamander poked his head out and blinked into the bright lights. Percival waited while he crawled out of the opening and shut the case.

“So I’ll, uh, see you tomorrow,” he said when he had straightened up.

“I’m looking forward to it, Mr. Scamander,” Percival said, walking towards the front door. Scamander hurried past him to open it for him, quirking his lips upward.

“Newt,” he said.

“Sorry?”

“You should call me Newt.” He blinked. “I mean, only if you want. I just thought, you know, we’ve known each other long enough, and Mr. Scamander always reminds me of my brother-“

“Newt,” Percival said, and the name was short and sweet and familiar on his tongue. He hid the beaming smile he felt like giving behind a smaller, polite one. “Alright. You have to call me Percival, then.”

“Percival,” Scamander- Newt- said, and Percival had never loved his name more. “Alright.”

Percival stepped into the hall, drawing his coat tighter around him. “Enjoy your cannolis, Newt.”

“Go put some shoes on, Percival.”

Percival laughed. He held Newt’s eye for a moment longer, and then nodded. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Alright,” Newt said. Percival turned to walk away, and a moment later he heard the door shut behind him.

Percival knew that he should be quiet, that it was late and he shouldn’t wake the neighbors, but he couldn’t resist bouncing down the stairs with a skip in his step. He couldn’t wipe the grin that had settled on his face away even though his muscles weren’t used to making that expression and were probably trying to protest. A delightfully warm tingle was spreading from his chest down to his toes, and Percival forgot for a moment that this was wrong, that he was making a big deal out of nothing, that this was not a feeling that he could ever have for his own.

He decided that he would walk home instead of apparating, despite his bare feet, just so he could see the stars.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hehe. Okay. Sorry for the long wait. 
> 
> I may or may not have been a bit distracted this past month and for some reason the start of this chapter was really hard for me to write, but I'm back in the swing of things now and updates should be regular again. Thank you all so much for your continued support and comments and kudos- it means so much! I didn't edit this chapter as much as usual because once it was finished I really wanted to get it out to you guys, so if there's any spelling or grammar mistakes forgive me.
> 
> I hope that you all have an amazing morning/night/whatever, and I hope that you enjoyed!


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Newt laughed. “I think I should make it clear that I don’t endorse skipping out on work.” 
> 
> “Well, it’s too late, because I blame you entirely.” Graves slipped into his coat and cocked an eyebrow at him, and he looked more professional than ever in spite of his ruffled hair. “You, Mr. Scamander, are a very bad influence.”

**Newt**

_Inventa_

Newt shut the door, trying to calm his suddenly rapid heartbeat. He took a long, slow breath and bit his lip to temper the smile building on his face.     

“Well.” Newt turned around to see all three of his friends staring at him from the kitchen table. Queenie’s eyes were narrowed. “That was interesting,” she said.

“What did he want?” Tina asked.

“He just wanted to apologize,” Newt said, stepping away from the door. “He was a bit short with me earlier, and he wanted to explain that he’s just stressed about the case.”

“He came all the way over here just to apologize?” Jacob asked, reaching out to take a cannoli off the plate in the center of the table. “That’s good of him.”

“That’s _weird_ of him.” Tina wrinkled her nose. “Graves doesn’t apologize. He’s notorious for it.”

“Well, he did tonight,” Newt said, joining them at the table. “He was just being nice. Which ones are the chocolate ones?”

“These three in the corner, made specially for you.”

“Cheers, Jacob.”

“And all you did was talk?” Queenie asked, raising her eyebrows.

Newt frowned as he took some cannoli and set it on his plate. “Yes?”

Queenie shrugged. “You two just seemed awful cozy, is all.”

Newt felt himself go bright red as both Tina and Jacob looked at him in confusion. Perhaps Queenie read the sudden panic in his thoughts, because her gaze softened and she said, “I just thought you might have gotten some kind of breakthrough in the case.”

“We didn’t,” Newt assured Tina when she sat up straight and excited in her chair. “No, he just apologized, and I promised that I would stop by tomorrow and go over some research with him.”

“Oh, god, now I’m going to have to go in, too.” Tina picked up her fork and broke the crust of her cannoli. “This case is turning out to be a giant ball of stress. I thought it would be fun.”

“Are murders ever fun?” Queenie asked.

“When you solve them. And it looks like that’s never going to happen.”

“Don’t say that,” Jacob said. “I’m sure you three will think of something.”

“I don’t know,” Tina said, “I thought that Graves has been acting a little off recently, and if he’s going around apologizing to people- especially Newt-“

“What does _that_ mean?” Newt asked defensively.

“Oh, you two hate each other, Newt, we all know it,” Tina said, and Newt refused to meet Queenie’s eye.

“Right,” Queenie said. She stood up. “Coffee, anyone?”

After the plate had been cleared of dessert and Jacob had been bid farewell, Queenie and Tina got ready for bed while Newt cleaned up the kitchen. He wet the sponge in the sink and wrung it, shaking off the excess water, then went to the table to start scrubbing it down.

“You could do it with magic.”

He looked up to see Queenie standing in the doorway, dressed in a short pink nightgown. It shouldn’t have been proper for him to see her that way, but they had lived with each other for far too long to care at this point.

“I like to do it the Muggle way,” Newt said. “It’s relaxing.”

Queenie cocked her head, curls bouncing. She had wiped off her lipstick, so her lips were just faintly colored pink. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine. Why?”

“What did Mr. Graves want?”

Newt hunched over the table and started scrubbing, watching the soap bubbles shift and pop every time he squeezed the sponge. “I told you, he wanted to apologize.”

“And that’s it?”

“ _Yes_.” Newt twisted so she couldn’t see his face. “Stop reading my thoughts.”

“I’m sorry,” Queenie said softly. “I can’t help it.”

Newt didn’t look at her.

“Newt-“

“Don’t, Queenie.”

“Why don’t you want to talk about it?”

“Because there’s nothing to talk about.”

“You know I don’t mind.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“You shouldn’t be afraid of your feelings, Newt. And seeing you two together-“

“Queenie.”

Queenie sighed and tugged at the hem of her dress, running her thumb over the satin. “I just wanted to say,” she said softly, “that seeing you two together made sense.”

Newt looked up. The sponge was creating a pool of water on the wood. “What?”

“You fit. I didn’t think you would, but then I watched you two talking, and the way that you both looked at each other... ”

“What do you mean?” Newt straightened, daring to hope for one moment, but Queenie winced.

“No, Newt, I… I’m sorry. I couldn’t read his thoughts. He knows occlumency.”

Newt deflated and turned away again. Queenie stepped forward, earnest now. Queenie, who was trying so hard to help, who thought she could, but was only making things worse.

“But I’m still really good at picking up on this kind of stuff! Just because I couldn’t read his thoughts… he was looking at you, Newt, I promise.”

“Of course he was looking at me, we were having a conversation.”

“That’s not what I mean.”

“Look, Queenie, thank you for… being so supportive, but there’s nothing to support. Alright? Whatever I… however I…” Newt gazed across the apartment to the window. It was too dark outside to see anything. “It doesn’t matter. He’ll never feel that way.”

“You don’t know that.”

Newt laughed. “Queenie, I have much more experience with this than you do, and I can assure you that he will never feel that way.”

“Newt…”

“It’s alright.” Newt tried to smile at her, tried to reassure her, but she looked so sad and concerned that he couldn’t hold her gaze. “Really, Queenie. I’m used to it. This will pass. We’ll figure this case out, and then I’ll stop seeing him, and then I’ll get back to my life and it will be fine.”

Queenie hesitated. “If you’re certain…”

“I am,” Newt said. He turned back to the table and started scrubbing again, and tried not to think. He tried to forget the way that Graves had looked at him in his case, with an unfamiliar fondness that had sparked something close to hope in Newt before reality had set in again. He tried not to think about how Graves seemed to glow from within when he laughed, and how _Newt_ had glowed while watching him, standing there barefoot in Newt’s case, looking to all the world as though he belonged there with Newt and his creatures, and he _definitely_ tried not to think about how that could never, ever happen.

“Oh, honey,” Queenie said, rushing towards him, and Newt realized he was shaking.

He let Queenie wrap her arms around him, and after a moment of hesitation he returned the embrace. Although his fingers were soapy and were probably ruining her beautiful nightdress, she said nothing as she squeezed him tightly. Newt shut his eyes and relaxed into the contact, trying to breathe. He wouldn’t cry.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“No.” Queenie tightened her grip. “Don’t you dare apologize, Newt Scamander. You’re allowed to have feelings and you’re allowed to be upset. Do you understand me?”

Newt nodded and took a sharp breath, blinking back wetness in his eyes. A door creaked open behind him and he tried to pull away, but Queenie held tight.

“Newt?” Tina sounded worried. Newt sniffed and glanced at her, and her expression softened in concern. “Did something happen?”

“No,” Newt said. “Nothing happened.”

Tina glanced at her sister, and then wordlessly stepped forward and wrapped her arms around both of them. Newt swallowed back his tears and closed his eyes and let them hug him, let himself have at least this contact. It was nice when he was too tired to worry about it, and it made him feel just a little bit less like his world was falling apart around him.

They stood there, the three of them, clutching onto each other for what felt like hours, and at the end of it Newt felt just a little bit better.

XXXXX

“We haven’t got the resources to post a guard at Annie and Lucinda’s apartment, but it shouldn’t be necessary,” Graves said. “There’s no evidence that the creature strikes twice anywhere. Annie should be fine.”

“We can’t spare one auror, just to be safe?” Tina asked with a frown.

Graves steepled his fingers and furrowed his brow. Newt clasped his hands tightly together and hoped that his staring wasn’t too obvious. “I don’t think it’s necessary,” he said. “Newt?”

It took Newt a second to remember that that was his name. “Oh,” he said. “Actually, I think that might be a good idea. I’ve been studying up on the emotional intelligence of certain magical creatures, and I think it’s highly likely that what we’re chasing has at least some attraction to strong negative feelings.”

Graves frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Every victim has been described as sad in some capacity,” Newt said. “There are some magical creatures that are drawn to particular emotions. This animal might be attracted to negative feelings- sadness or grief, for example- because it makes their prey weaker, more vulnerable. And if that’s true-”

“Then Annie is in danger,” Graves said. He nodded. “Alright. We’ll put Lakes on it. Goldstein, let him know when he gets back from his patrol.”

“On it,” Tina said with a nod.

“Good work, Newt,” Graves said. “Do you have anything else?”

Newt almost wished that he hadn’t acted so impulsively last night and asked Graves to call him by his first name. It made their relationship too casually intimate, which was turning out to be more of a problem than Newt had expected. It had been easier to ignore his mounting infatuation when they had been strictly professional. It had also been easier when Graves had been short and irritated with him all the time; now he was polite and respectful in a way that made Newt warm all over whenever they spoke.

“Um,” Newt said, “no. Sorry.”

“That’s alright,” Graves said, and there was that heat again. “Goldstein, if you could-”

He was interrupted by a knock on the door. All three of them looked over at it. Graves sat up in his chair.

“Come in,” he called. When the door swung open and Picquery walked in, both Tina and Newt got quickly to their feet.

“Madame President,” Tina said, “good morning!”

“Goldstein,” Picquery greeted. “Scamander.” She turned her gaze on Graves and her expression hardened. He stared back at her, his face carefully blank. Newt frowned. “Percival, can I have a word with you?”

“Yes,” Graves said.

Tina started to move away, but Newt remained rooted to the floor, unwilling to leave Graves alone. Picquery raised an eyebrow at him in that sophisticated, intimidating manner, and _Merlin_ did Newt wish he could just back down. But Graves was watching him from behind Picquery with so much surprise that Newt knew he couldn’t give in quite yet.

“Can I help you, Mr. Scamander?” Picquery asked coolly.

“Um,” Newt said, because despite his sudden bravado, he had no bark to his bite. He made eye contact with Graves, who cocked his head ever so slightly in a silent question. “No.”

“Good,” Picquery said. “Then you won’t mind when I ask you to leave.”

Newt blinked, still staring at Graves. He was suddenly very conscious of his every movement, of how his shoulders rose and fell with every breath, every blink of his eye. “No,” he said. “I’ll just… wait outside.”

“If you must,” Picquery said. Behind Newt, Tina coughed, and he finally broke eye contact with Graves and turned to follow her out.

“Are you alright, Newt?” she asked as soon as they had shut the door behind them. “You kind of froze in there.”

“I’m fine,” Newt said, distracted. “What do you think she wants to talk to him about?”

“I don’t know,” Tina said. “Business stuff, I suppose. You can’t really question the president.”

No, he couldn’t, and neither could Graves. Newt was itching to turn back around and interrupt whatever was going on behind that closed door, because he had an awful feeling that Picquery would threaten Graves again. He still wasn’t quite over the conversation he had had with Graves yesterday or the poorly concealed vulnerability in his confession. Had that only been yesterday?

“I need to go cross reference some stuff with wand regulation,” Tina said, unaware of Newt’s internal struggle. “Want to tag along?”

“Oh- oh, no, thank you. I think I’ll just, uh, wait here.”

Tina frowned. “For what?”

“For, uh…” Newt gestured over his shoulder. “You know.”

Tina narrowed her eyes. “Alright,” she said slowly. “I’ll drop by again later.”

“Alright,” Newt said, too quickly. Tina looked at him suspiciously one last time before leaving, disappearing into the throngs of the auror department.

Newt pressed his back against the wall next to Graves’s office door and looked around, hoping that he wouldn’t draw any attention. The office had only just opened and it was bustling with people preparing for the day. Very few aurors were out on patrol this early, so the department was stuffed with workers. They were their usual loud selves, shouting and tossing things to each other, and Newt once more marveled at the intensity of America. Everything was so _loud_ here.

“Newt!”

Newt turned and his heart sank. “Mr. Lakes,” he said, right hand closing reflexively over nothing, a nervous tic he had developed from carrying his case around too often. Now he regretted leaving it with Queenie this morning. “Um, how do you do?”

“Just fine, just fine.” Lakes took Newt by the hand and tugged him forward, pulling him off the wall at a stumble, and slapped him on the shoulder. Newt swallowed and tried to smile, darting another half glance at Graves’s office door. “Was that the president I saw go in there?”

“I wouldn’t know,” Newt mumbled, slipping his hand out of Lakes’s grasp.

Lakes laughed, a loud and boisterous noise that grated at Newt’s ears. “Don’t be silly, I know you’re chummy with our dear director. Don’t exactly know how that works out, but hey, it’s a great way to get ahead! Say, you hoping to be an auror?”

“No,” Newt said, wishing intensely that he were somewhere else.

Lakes laughed again even though Newt didn’t think he had said anything remotely funny. His large cheeks were spotted with red, as though he had recently been drinking. Newt suspected he had been born tipsy and hadn’t yet recovered. “Probably for the best, you wouldn’t be well suited to such a fast-paced job.”

“Oh,” Newt said. He didn’t think it warranted any further response.

“So, listen, I’m planning a little get together at my place this weekend and I’d love to have you over.” Lakes stuck both his hands in the pockets of his trousers and beamed at him. “It’ll be mostly aurors, and the lovely Ms. Goldstein is welcome to join us as well.”

“I’ll pass on the message to her,” Newt said, “but I’m afraid I have to decline.”

Lakes frowned, so infinitesimally and quickly that Newt thought he had imagined it. Then he grinned again. “You sure?”

“Yes.”

“That’s too bad,” Lakes said. “I’d love to get together some time. Talk, uh, breeding, or whatever it is you like to talk about.”

“I’m not a breeder.”

“Sure you aren’t.”

Newt was spared answering when the door behind him clicked open. He spun around and came face to face with Picquery, who broke her stride to arch a perfect eyebrow at him.

“Madame President!” Lakes sprang to attention beside him and greeted her with his most charming smile, all flashy teeth and no substance. “You look lovely today.”

“Save it, Lakes,” Picquery said, and shot one last look at Newt before she swept off, tossing her head importantly as witches and wizards scrambled out of her way. Newt watched her sweep off like a wave, and then turned and peered into the open office. Graves was at his desk, head bent over his work and a scowl plastered on his face as he scribbled out a report.

“Excuse me,” Newt muttered to Lakes, and then slipped in and shut the door before the other man could respond.

“Not now, Scamander,” Graves said without looking up as Newt turned around.

Newt hesitated, then took half a step forward. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine. I’m not fired, am I? Although that should be coming soon.” Graves dotted an i with a vengeful expression on his face, and Newt winced at the sharp sound of metal on wood.

“I’m sure that’s not true.”

“Oh, it is, at least according to our dear president.” Graves took a deep breath, set down his pen, and pinched the bridge of his nose. The move was so very tired, so human, that it made Newt’s chest ache. “Look, now is really not the time. You have the day off, alright? Go… do whatever it is you do in your free time. Find Goldstein. Enjoy yourself.”

Newt bit his lip and tugged on the sleeve of his coat. “Mr.- Percival,” he corrected, and Graves looked back up at him, eyebrows furrowed. “I want to help. If I can. Please?”

Graves reached up and ran his fingers through his hair, gaze straying distractedly from Newt, and Newt was free to stare at the auror’s suddenly ruffled hair in open enrapture. He looked amazing with his hair slicked back, of course, but when it was like this, half neat, half messily tousled--

“That’s very kind of you,” Graves said, “but there’s nothing further to do right now. You should go do something fun.”

Newt swallowed and tried to tell himself that what he was about to say was just self sabotage, but his mouth wasn’t listening to that logical part of his brain. “You know, I haven’t, um, actually seen New York,” he said, awkward, staring hard at the leg of Graves’s chair. “Not in a proper tour-like manner, I mean. Not like- well, you know. And I was wondering, if you weren’t doing anything- I mean, it’s a nice day out, or at least it’s sunny, and that’s what makes it nice in London, but if it’s not actually that nice or you’re busy I completely understand if you don’t want to-”

“Show you around New York?” Graves’s voice sounded odd. Newt couldn’t look at him.

“You said I should do something fun,” he murmured. “It’s silly, I know, I shouldn’t have-”

“I would love to.” He said it fast, cutting Newt off before he could back out, and Newt was so surprised he shut his mouth and looked at Graves again. The man was sitting up in his seat, eyes locked on Newt in such an intense way it momentarily took Newt’s breath away. And for just one second Newt let himself think about what Queenie had said- _he was looking at you, Newt._

Did he look at him like _this,_ when Newt wasn’t paying attention?

“If- if you want to,” Graves said, fumbling over the words when Newt didn’t respond. The awkwardness was so uncharacteristic Newt had to smile.

“That sounds nice,” Newt said.

Graves smiled back at him, just a little, then stood up and pulled his coat off the back of his chair. “Alright,” he said, “let’s get out of here before Picquery comes back.”

Newt laughed. “I think I should make it clear that I don’t endorse skipping out on work.”

“Well, it’s too late, because I blame you entirely.” Graves slipped into his coat and cocked an eyebrow at him, and he looked more professional than ever in spite of his ruffled hair. “You, Mr. Scamander, are a very bad influence.”

XXXXX

“And that building _used_ to be a great bar before the No-Majs got it into their heads that banning alcohol would somehow make their lives better,” Graves said, tipping his head towards a derelict building at the end of the block. “Now it’s a laundromat, and a rather poor one, I hear. But the previous proprietors took a lot of their stock down south, and they supposedly have an excellent speakeasy running right now.”

“Ah,” Newt said. Graves glanced at him out of the corner of his eye.

“Drink much in England?” he asked.

“Does tea count?”

Graves laughed, tilting his head back so the sun could slide past the brim of his hat onto his face. He was dressed in black from head to foot, and Newt was certain that he looked like a clown next to his sleek professionalism. He wished for the millionth time that he wasn’t quite so tall.

“Have you ever had a drop of alcohol before, Newt?”

Newt kicked at a rock on the sidewalk and sent it skittering into the road. A horse and buggy passed over it, heavy reigns rattling and clinking like the Bloody Baron’s chains, hooves clip clopping on the pavement. A group of tourists giggled in the back and peered down at him, and Newt looked away.

“I went to Hogwarts,” Newt said. “Of course I have.”

“Ah, yes, I’ve heard stories about what you kids get up to down there. All that butterbeer can wreak havoc on your test scores, you know.”

Newt snorted. “Amongst other things.”

“Oh? What substances were _you_ abusing when you should have been a good, proper schoolboy, Scamander?”

Newt stared ahead so Graves wouldn’t see his grin. “Firewhiskey,” he said.

“That’s made up.”

“What?” Newt looked at him, shocked. “Are you telling me you’ve never had _firewhiskey_ before?”

“That is _not_ a real thing.”

“Oh, Mr. Graves,” Newt said, shaking his head. “I have so much to teach you.”

“You, teach _me_? I’d like to see that.”

“I’ll have my brother send a bottle over,” Newt said. “If you think you can take it.”

“Pretty sure that’s illegal, Scamander. You really shouldn’t be talking about it with me.”

“What are you going to do, turn me in?”

Graves laughed, and Newt let himself be swept away by the sound. It was all so perfect; the sun was shining in a way it never did in London, there were no pressing events to worry about, and, best of all, he was walking with Graves. For the first time in a long time Newt found himself relaxing into a conversation, not fixating so much on what he was doing wrong and whether the other person hated him or not. At least in his head he could pretend that Graves was enjoying this just as much as he was.

“Speaking of your brother,” Graves said, all casual nonchalance. “I mean, I don’t mean to pry…”

“No, that’s alright.” They turned a corner and Newt looked across the street at a flower vendor. A woman in a green apron stood out front with several bouquets, holding them out to passersby and gesturing to a sign in the window that listed prices.

“He’s an auror,” Newt said. “A really good one. And you know about what he did in the war, everyone does. He’s sort of a national hero. It’s fantastic, I’m proud of him.”

“But?”

“But what?”

“You don’t seem so eager to talk about him.”

“Oh, that’s not it,” Newt said. “I love him. I mean, we don’t always get along- we’re too different for that- but he cares. It’s just… I don’t know.”

“Yes, you do.”

Newt looked at him. Graves was squinting into the sunlight in a way that made it look like he was scowling, but Newt knew better at this point.

“People always… want to talk about him,” Newt said awkwardly. He put his hands in his pockets, suddenly self-conscious. He felt Picket stir in the breast pocket of his coat, napping in the warmth of the sun and the fabric. “And they have all these expectations of him being a war hero, and then they meet me, and- well, you’ve seen me. I’m not much of a hero.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Graves said. When Newt looked at him in surprise he cleared his throat and scowled harder. “What I mean is- maybe you’re not a war hero, but that doesn’t mean you’re not, you know, heroic. I mean, you’re a hero to all those animals you save, aren’t you?”

“I guess,” Newt said, ignoring the warmth blooming in his cheeks. “It’s not the same as my brother’s Gryffindor bravado, I’m afraid.”

“Gryffindors are overrated,” Graves said. “I, for one, happen to like Hufflepuffs _very_ much.”

Newt couldn’t hide the flush _that_ caused. He looked at Graves again, mouth open just a bit, surprised at the frank kindness. Even though he and Graves had been on better footing recently, Newt still wasn’t quite used to the random compliments. Had that even counted as a compliment?

“I know a lot of Hufflepuffs,” Graves said quickly when Newt didn’t respond. “They’re, uh, great.”

“Oh,” Newt said, his spirits falling. It had just been a general compliment, then. He tried for a smile.  “Yeah, they are.”

“My cousin’s a Hufflepuff.”

“Would I know them?”

“Um. No.”

“Oh.”

Newt tipped his head back, following the skyscrapers up, up with his eyes. They seemed to disappear into the clouds, and not for the first time Newt marveled at the wonders Muggles could create without magic. He couldn’t imagine understanding the architecture and mathematics that went into an endeavor like these buildings.

“Your family,” he said abruptly. “Uh, how are they?”

“Fine,” Graves said, and Newt thought he detected a note of amusement in his voice. “Small. My father died years ago, and I don’t get along with my mother much. I see her on most holidays, when she isn’t traveling. No siblings.”

Newt frowned despite himself. “I can’t imagine that,” he said, trying to think of a life without his older brother constantly sticking his nose into his business.

“It’s not so bad,” Graves said. He bit down on his bottom lip, swift and short, like he always did when he was sitting on more information than he was giving. “I guess it’d be nice to have someone. Sometimes. To take care of Mother.”

“What about your cousin? We Hufflepuffs are particularly selfless, you know, I’m sure they would help.”

Graves smiled a little. “Not close with that side of the family.”

Newt looked away, wondering for the millionth time about Graves’s personal life. He wasn’t very sociable at work, but perhaps that was because he had enough relationships outside of MACUSA to satisfy him. Newt couldn’t imagine Graves hanging out at a bar or laughing with friends, but he knew that it must happen, even if Newt never got to see that side of him.

“I’m being an awful tour guide,” Graves said, stopping abruptly. Newt followed suit “Central Park is just a few blocks away. Do you want to head over?”

He wasn’t looking at Newt, but somewhere past his shoulder, and Newt resisted the urge to turn and look as well. Regardless, it was clear that Graves was distracted, and Newt felt suddenly as though he were intruding upon his day.

“Oh, no,” Newt said. “You’ve humored me long enough. You should go back to work.”

Graves’s eyes snapped back to him. “Are you sure?”

Newt tugged the sleeve of his coat. “Yes,” he said. “I have to go feed my creatures anyway.”

“Alright,” Graves said. “If you’re sure.”

Newt smiled at Graves’s shoulder. “Thank you,” he said. “For, uh, the walk. It was nice.”

“Yes,” Graves said, “it was.”

_We should do it again sometime_. Newt opened his mouth to say it, but his bravery died at the last moment and he cleared his throat instead. “Yes,” he said. “Um. Bye.”

“Goodbye,” Graves said, and smiled just a little bit. Newt turned and started walking back down the sidewalk, stiff, aware of his every step until he turned the corner and was no longer in Graves’s sight.

Newt pressed himself into the shade the corner building cast across the sidewalk and took a  moment to calm his pounding heart. Something stirred in his pocket and he lifted his lapels and peeked in, then smiled and offered a finger.

“Hey,” he said as Pickett used it as leverage to climb onto his hand. He held his palm flat so Pickett could stand. “How are you?”

Pickett blinked sleepily at him and yawned. Newt laughed.

“That’s your own fault,” he said. “I know you were in Queenie’s makeup again last night. She said that something left footprints in her face powder.”

Pickett looked unconcerned by the accusation. A flash of dark across the street drew Newt’s eye; it was Graves walking away, retracing their steps back to MACUSA.

Newt sighed and leaned his head back against the cold brick wall. Pickett plopped down on his palm, already dozing off again.

“Oh, Pickett,” he said. “What am I going to do?”

XXXXX

“Newt, you really don’t have to stay.”

“No, that’s alright,” Newt said, glancing quickly as a group of aurors nearby shouted and cheered about something. He crossed his arms tighter. “It’s not like I have anything better to do.”

Tina looked up from her paperwork and grinned a little. “I thought your Niffler had a sore throat? Shouldn’t you be at home mothering him?”

“I gave him some honey before I left,” Newt said. “That way he feels better _and_ his paws are too sticky to steal effectively. It’s a win-win.”

Tina laughed and shuffled through her papers. “Only five more minutes, I promise,” she said. “Then we can go get something to eat. I’m starving.”

Newt let his gaze wander around the office, which was bright with workers popping in to visit during their lunch breaks. It was loud enough that it was starting to make him a little bit anxious, and although he wished Tina would hurry, he wanted to let her finish her work in peace.

“What is that for, anyways?” he asked, because as long as he looked like he was already having a conversation, no one else would approach him.

Tina’s fingers curled around her pen. “It’s actually about Bianchi.”

“What?”

“What Graves did was pretty unorthodox,” she said. “You know, trading him for information. There’s a lot of paperwork to fill out.”

“Oh,” Newt said, relaxing again. He sat back against the edge of her desk. “He’s not causing any more trouble, is he?”

“No,” Tina said, “and I stopped by that old furniture place where they were based. It’s empty now, they’ve all moved out. Who knows where they are now?”

“Did Mr. Graves think they were still involved somehow?”

Tina shifted in her seat and didn’t look at Newt. “No,” she said. “I… well, I didn’t exactly have _permission_ to go, but--”

“ _Tina_.”

“There was no one there, it was perfectly safe!” She signed the bottom of the paper and twisted in her seat to smile at him hopefully. “Don’t tell Queenie?”

Newt rolled his eyes but returned her smile. “You’re ridiculous.”

“I know.” Tina pushed her chair back and grabbed her coat off the table. “Shall we go?”

Newt opened his mouth to respond but a sudden ripple in the crowd of aurors drew his attention. He looked to the door and saw an auror he faintly recognized burst in. She paused for a moment, searching through the crowd for something with her gaze, and then started running, pushing people aside and leaving a trail of irritated coworkers behind her.

“Slow down, Bentridge!” shouted Lakes as she shoved him aside.

“What the…?” Tina frowned, and Newt read the moment of realization in her face. “Come on,” she said, grabbing Newt by the wrist and tugging him along behind Bentridge.

Bentridge had burst into Graves’s office and was already talking by the time Tina and Newt poked their heads in the doorway. Graves was on his feet, watching intently as Bentridge panted, clearly out of breath.

“I wrote it down,” she gasped, waving a piece of paper at him. “I didn’t want to go in without backup, but-”

Graves strode around his desk and snatched it out of her hand, reading it quickly. His frown deepened.

“Goldstein,” he barked. Tina straightened beside Newt. “Get five aurors to this address immediately and get yourself there as _soon_ as possible.”

“Yes, sir,” Tina said, hurrying over to take the paper. She was gone before Newt could say a word to her.

“Bentridge,” Graves said. He grabbed his coat off the back of his chair and stopped briefly to meet her eyes. “Fantastic work. Go get some water.”

“I’d like to go and help, sir,” Bentridge said, throwing her shoulders back to meet his gaze.

Graves’s lips twitched upwards. “Alright,” he said. “Follow me.”

He turned and stopped abruptly, and the rush of action hung suspended in the air. “Newt,” he said in surprise.

Newt glanced at Bentridge, who was still trying to catch her breath. “What’s going on?”

“I identified that woman you’re looking for,” Bentridge said, “Helen Boyd. I was on patrol and I saw her entering her apartment just a few blocks from here.”

“Newt, you wait here,” Graves said, shrugging into his jacket.

“I’m coming.”

“Newt-”

“I can help.” Newt set his jaw. “I’m just as much a part of this case as you are, Percival.”

Graves hesitated, but the press of time won out. “Fine,” he snapped. “Stay close.”

Newt stepped back to let Graves and Bentridge out first, then hurried along behind them as they made their way through the department. They passed Tina, who was shouting at a group of confused aurors, but Graves didn’t spare her so much as a glance as they strode through the doors and down the hall.

The house elf in the elevator seemed to sense their urgency and didn’t bother with small talk. He punched in the atrium’s button and they swung upwards. Newt thought that he could feel the agitation pouring off of both of the aurors, who waited impatiently as the lift climbed upwards. He supposed that patience wasn’t a quality needed in aurors.

They practically sprinted through the atrium, and no sooner had they burst into the sunshine than someone seized Newt’s arm and he gasped as the press of apparation closed around him.

His feet hit the ground hard and he stumbled. The hand held onto him just long enough for him to find his footing and then released him. Newt looked to see that Graves’s attention was already fixed across the street, and Newt followed his gaze to a tiny brick apartment building across from them.

“She had a suitcase with her, sir,” Bentridge said in a low voice. “I only saw her for a moment.”

Loud cracks behind them made Newt jump. He turned to see Tina and a group of other aurors clustered in the shade, all with their wands out. Newt scrabbled in his pocket for a moment and came up with his own, which he gripped tightly.

“What’s the plan, sir?” Tina asked, coming to Graves’s side.

“Sporelli, check around the building for other exit points,” Graves said. “Peters, Kristoffson, set up anti-apparition wards. Everyone else, follow behind me.”

Three of the aurors ran off, faces set. Newt looked around for where he was supposed to go as Graves started forward. Someone grabbed his arm and he jumped to see Tina glaring at him.

“Tina,” he said in relief.

“What are you doing here?” she hissed.

“I’m helping.”

“Damn it, Newt, Queenie’s going to _skin_ you. Alright, stay behind me, and don’t run off alone.”

He was slightly miffed about being treated like a child, but it wasn’t the time to argue so he nodded and positioned himself behind her. They hurried across the street single-file; the sidewalks were thankfully empty. They mounted the front steps, and Newt tread as carefully as possible so he wouldn’t trip.

Graves tapped the doorknob with the tip of his wand and murmured “Alohomora.” The lock clicked and the door swung open.

He glanced over his shoulders at them, eyes bright and alive in a way that Newt hadn’t seen before. Despite the stress of it all, there was a lightness in his steps and shoulders as he tiptoed over the threshold and started up the stairs that lead up into the apartments.

Newt bit his lip and tried to focus on not stepping on creaky wooden planks. He took every step lightly at first, testing it with some of his weight before finally stepping up. It was slow going, but he kept close on Tina’s heels- so close that when she stopped he didn’t realize and stumbled right into her.

“Newt,” she hissed, catching herself on the banister.

“Sorry!” he whispered back.

Graves threw a scowl over his shoulder, nostrils flaring threateningly. Newt tried to smile at him and he rolled his eyes.

They lit their wands as they crept up into the darkened hallway. Newt looked around, his eyes adjusting quickly to the dim lighting. There were at least ten doors here, all with rusted gold numbers hanging above the peephole.

“Start checking,” Graves murmured. He pointed his wand at Newt, and Newt blinked into the sudden brightness. “Newt, stay put.”

“Fine,” he muttered, blinking away the spots dancing in his eyes as the three aurors moved away from him.

It was painful to stand in one place and watch as they worked. He alternated his gaze from one to the other. Their movements were identical; they would step up to a door and then would either lean down (Bentridge and Graves) or stand on their toes (Tina) to look into the peephole, bringing their wands up with them. Newt didn’t know what spell they used, but it only took them moments to check each door, until finally Bentridge made a small sound and started gesturing wildly, drawing them to a door at the far end of the hallway- number 8.

She stepped back to let Graves in. He moved up to the door, pressed his wand to the lock, then paused, glancing back to make sure they were all ready. He made eye contact with Newt, briefly, and Newt tried to look like his palms weren’t sweating so much that his wand felt slick in his hands. His heart was pounding so loudly he was afraid it would give them away.

“Alohomora,” Graves muttered, and the lock clicked.

It happened quickly. All three of them strode in at the same time, wands aloft, shouting different versions of “Hands up!” and “Wand down!” It took Newt a moment to realize what had happened, and another one to force his feet to move out of the hallway and into the apartment. And when he did-

“Damn it!” Only Graves was standing in the living room, wand still raised, glaring around at the room. After a few seconds Bentridge and Tina came out of the hallway that split off from the main room, which looked like a kind of joint kitchen and living room. Their wands were lowered.

“It’s empty,” Tina said.

“Are you sure this is hers?” Graves demanded.

“That’s the bag she was carrying.” Bentridge nodded at a purple suitcase lying on the floor beneath the coffee table. Graves strode over and kicked it open. It was empty.

“She must have known we were coming,” Tina said, walking over to poke her head around the counter in the kitchen. “There’s only one bedroom and bathroom. There’s nothing in them. Totally empty.”

“Shit,” Graves said. He kicked the suitcase again, hard, and sent it skidding across the floor. Newt took a step back in surprise and trod on something that crinkled. He looked down to see a pile of scattered papers on the floor. He frowned.

“Damn it!” Graves clenched his wand and looked around him again as though hoping Helen Boyd would pop out from behind the sofa. Newt crouched down and picked up one of the papers, reading it quickly. His breath caught in his throat.

“No, this is alright,” Tina said quickly. “We have an address, we know she was here-”

“She doesn’t live here,” Graves said. He ran his fingers through his hair in frustration. “This is just a front, or a checkpoint, or something. No one lives here, it’s empty. Look at that- the pantry’s empty.”

“I’m sorry, sir, this is my fault,” Bentridge said.

“No, Bentridge, your information was good. She just got the best of us.”

“Mr. Graves,” Newt said, eyes fixed on the paper as he stood up. He felt the attention of the aurors shift onto him.

“Newt?” Graves was at his side in a second. “What is it?”

Newt held the paper up with eyes wide, beaming in excitement. Graves looked at it, frowning, confused. Bentridge and Tina drew close as well.

“What is it?” Tina asked.

****"They’re notes,” Newt said. “Boyd’s notes on her experiments. I know what the creature is.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, I want to give a big thank you thank you to everyone because look at that kudos count!!! I literally cannot believe this story is so popular, so thank you to everyone who's left their love. You're all amazing <3
> 
> I wanted to get this chapter up because it might be a little bit before I can update again. My school is producing a short play that I wrote and it opens next weekend, so this week is going to be chaos in trying to sort everything out. But I PROMISE the next chapter will be a good one. I have some great plans for it.
> 
> Thank you for reading, and I hope that your day is/was amazing. Love you all!


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Percival stood, looked at him for another moment, then turned to go. He stopped when Newt snagged his wrist.
> 
> “I didn’t say hello,” he mumbled without opening his eyes.
> 
> Percival laughed even though Newt’s hand on his wrist was making his heart pound. “Hello, idiot.”

**Percival**

_Inventiones_

Percival was trying very hard not to pace. He had already been told several times that he was being “distracting, and, frankly, annoying,” but despite his general indignation about being called annoying he was unable to force himself to sit still.

He contented himself instead with moving meticulously around the small shed examining Newt’s personal effects. Not the most polite thing to do, especially as he hadn’t asked, but he had to do something or he would be driven mad.

Percival pulled open a cupboard and peeked in at a bunch of pots. Behind him, Newt’s quill scratched on paper. He glanced over his shoulder.

“Anything else?”

“Percival, I really think it’s best if you go home and get some sleep.”

“You might need me for something.”

Newt looked up. The table had been completely cleared of debris and was coated now in a flurry of notes and paper. Newt’s eyes were rimmed with red from hours of uninterrupted reading, and Percival was torn between wanting to get this case finished and wanting Newt to get some rest. “I really don’t want to discredit you,” he said, “but I’m absolutely positive you’ll be no help with this.”

Percival scowled at him. He turned back to the pots as Newt went back to his writing. He glanced in at the darkness, bored, then jumped when a pot shifted on its own, scraping against the wood. He stared at it.

“Newt?”

“What?”

“...Nevermind.”

Percival shut the cabinet, deciding not to engage with whatever was in there.

He turned and wandered to the other side of the shed. He felt jumpy, anxious. Newt had been reading through the notes for hours and hadn’t told him a single thing. Goldstein had given up and gone upstairs to bed, but Percival couldn’t, not when they were this close. He reached up and let his fingers brush a bunch of basil dangling from the eaves overhead. “How much more do you have to read?”

Newt’s quill stilled. “Do you want a run-through of what I’ve figured out so far?”

Percival was at the table so fast Newt looked startled. Percival sat down in the chair across from him and asked, “What?”

“It’s not much,” Newt said. “These notes are… extensive. Whoever this woman was, she obviously knows her stuff. It’s taking awhile trying to get through them and cross-reference it all, and my breeding knowledge is pretty shaky--”

“What is it?” Percival asked, impatient.

“It’s definitely at least somewhat aquatic,” Newt said, rifling through pages filled with his own looping handwriting. “One of the first experiments she did was crossing a hidebehind with a kappa, which-- I mean, I’m not even sure how that worked anatomically, let alone where she found a kappa, because the Japanese have very strict laws regarding--”

“A what with a what now?”

“A hidebehind is an American creature, sort of… sort of like a noncorporeal dog? And a kappa is a water imp, so think of it like crossing a ghost dog with a… water thing.” When Percival just stared at him, Newt shrugged. “I’m trying to simplify it for you.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“The resultant creature lived entirely in water, according to her notes, but could also assume a gaseous state that could travel over the land in short distances. But then she took that and bred it with a sphoron-- kind of a leaf animal?-- and that creature could only eat seaweed, so she crossed it with--”

“She was just throwing random things in there, huh?”

“Not at all.” Newt ran his fingers through his hair, looking exhausted, and Graves ached to order him to bed, and maybe join him… “It was all extremely precise and calculating. She was breeding certain animals to produce desired effects, and most of the time she got it right. There’s so much to read here, and I definitely will once this mess is over with, but right now I’m just trying to pinpoint the steps she took that led to the creature we’re chasing.”

“What will you be able to tell us from all this?”

“It depends on how thorough she was with her description of it,” Newt said. “I should be able to provide a probable list of features and possible attacks it might use, whether in offense or defense. And if I can find a way to mimic the poison it uses I might be able to brew an antidote, but that’s not very likely.”

“Anything you can give us will be helpful.” Percival rested his elbows on the table and watched Newt stifle a yawn. The poor guy’s eyes were drooping. “Do you need to get some rest?”

“Not at all,” Newt said. “I’ll maybe brew a pot of coffee, though.”

“Not tea?”

“I think I’ll need something a lot stronger than tea leaves for this,” Newt said, lips twitching in an almost smile. He nodded his head at the ladder. “You should get going, though. It’s past midnight.”

“I don’t want to leave you to do all the work on your own.”

“Percival, honestly, I’ll be able to do this a lot faster on my own. Besides, you look dead on your feet.”

Percival frowned even though he knew Newt was probably right. It had been a long day, and despite his jitters he was aching for bed. “Are you sure?”

Newt chuckled. “I’m sure,” he said. “Stop by again in the morning and hopefully I’ll have something for you.”

“Alright,” Percival said. He stood and snagged his coat off the back of his chair. “Try to get a little sleep.”

“Sure,” Newt said. He was already writing again. “Be quiet up there, Queenie and Tina are asleep.”

“I mean it,” Percival said, walking to the ladder, “don’t work all night.”

“Mhmm.”

Percival turned to look at him, one foot on the bottom rung of the ladder. Newt was hunched over his work, head twisted in a way that must be hurting his neck, and god did Percival wish he could go over there and run his fingers through his curls, which had turned red in the dim lighting. He wished he could kiss him on the cheek and pry him away from his work and make him crawl into bed beside him and sleep.

But he couldn’t, because not only would Newt never want that, he deserved someone far better than an old, dried-up auror.

Percival swallowed and turned away. He started climbing up the ladder, and took extra care to be quiet on his way out.

XXXXX

When Percival knocked on the Goldstein’s door the next morning, he didn’t expect his partner to open the door in her nightclothes, glare at him, and ask, “What?”

“Terribly sorry for intruding,” he said, cocking an eyebrow at her, “but I was under the impression that there was some very sensitive case material in your apartment that I need to take a look at.”

Goldstein rolled her eyes and stepped back, drawing her cotton flannel robe tighter around her. Her hair was tangled and she looked exhausted.

“Sorry,” she said, “you woke me up. Queenie’s still asleep.”

Percival glanced at the clock. He had used all of his willpower to stay away until eight, but he supposed it was still a little early for a Sunday.

“I just came to check on Scamander’s progress.”

“He’s in his case,” Goldstein said, waving a hand in the direction of the living room. She winced and pinched the bridge of her nose. “Ugh. My head hurts. I’m going to make a pot of coffee, do you want some?”

“Please,” Percival said, taking off his coat and hanging it on the hook by the door. He hadn’t gotten much sleep last night either, but his hopes that they would make some serious progress today had filled his energy reserve. “Should I…?”

“Just head right down,” she said, rubbing her eyes as she shuffled off into the kitchen.

The latches were already undone on the case, so Percival just lifted the lid and peered in. All the lights were still on below, bathing the wooden floor in deep gold. He stepped gingerly inside, still getting accustomed to the sensation of crawling right through the coffee table.

“I do hope you’ve managed to turn up something, Scamander, because--”

Percival turned and stopped. Newt was slumped over the table, long arms spread out across the piles of paper, a quill still dangling from his fingertips. His chest rose and fell steadily with each breath.

Percival took a second to brace himself. He crept forward, trying to be quiet, and leaned down. Newt’s face seemed younger in sleep, and Percival’s heart gave a tremendous leap. At the same time, a spark of fear lit in his stomach. Newt was so young.

Percival was so tempted to leave him there, but he knew from experience that passing out at a table could lead to some serious neck pain. Despite his better judgment he reached out and touched Newt’s shoulder softly.

“Scamander,” he whispered. He shook his shoulder a little. “Newt.”

Newt gave a violent sniff and sat up so abruptly that Percival withdrew his hand. He blinked, looked around with half-open eyes, and spotted Percival. A smile melted onto his still-sleepy face. Percival clenched his fist around his desire to lean in and peck him on the cheek.

“Percival,” Newt said, sounding pleased.

“Morning, sunshine,” Percival said. “I see you’ve been working hard.”

“Mm,” Newt hummed. He rubbed his eyes. “What time is it?”

“Morning,” Percival said. “I wanted to stop by and see how you were doing.”

“Oh, yeah. The stuff. Look,” he said, scrambling to pick up one of the papers. There was a smear of ink on his cheek. “I got through most of it. Here’s a list of probable characteristics, uh… at least partially aquatic, so it’ll probably be found near places with… water, I would check out, you know, uh… lakes? And any places with… water…”

“This is great, Newt,” Percival said, taking the paper from him. Newt squinted at his empty hands, looking confused. “Now let’s get you to bed.”

“I’m fine,” Newt said, waving him off. He turned in his seat, yawning again, and jabbed a finger at the paper. “It’s probably also got pincers. You know, kind of like a crab, like…” He made pincer-like motions with his hands. Percival raised his eyebrows. “I can teach your aurors how to deal with that.”

“Fantastic,” Percival said. He folded the paper and slipped it into his pocket, then bent down and put an arm around Newt’s shoulders. “What else did you find?”

“It might shoot poison,” Newt said, allowing himself to be pulled into a standing position. He teetered unsteadily, leaning against Percival for support. “Like pew pew pew, you know?”

“Pew pew pew,” Percival agreed, leading the way to the small cot tucked into a corner of the room. Newt had tossed most of the stuff from the table onto it. Percival waved his hand and piled it all neatly on the floor. “Alright, come on.”

He eased Newt down. Newt yawned and fell back against the pillow, out his arms and letting them flop on either side of him. He was still dressed in very rumpled clothes, but Percival had absolutely zero intention of trying to get him into pajamas.

“Here you go,” Percival said, drawing the thick quilt over him. Newt hummed and flipped onto his sides, peeking blearily up at him.

“It’s also definitely attracted to negative emotions,” Newt murmured.

“That’s nice.”

“So you should probably talk to your aurors… if any of them have any personal issues going on… you might want to pull them off the case…”

“We can discuss this after you get some sleep.”

“Alright,” Newt said, letting his eyes slide shut. Percival stood, looked at him for another moment, then turned to go. He stopped when Newt snagged his wrist.

“I didn’t say hello,” he mumbled without opening his eyes.

Percival laughed even though Newt’s hand on his wrist was making his heart pound. “Hello, idiot.”

“Hello.”

Newt was remarkably cat-like in sleep, curled tightly, breathing softly. His hand dropped and hung over the side of the bed. Percival eased it up beside him and smoothed the blanket once, briefly, before stepping back.

He stopped at the table to peek through Newt’s notes, but he didn’t understand any of them. He would need to wait until Newt was a little more rested and coherent. Surprisingly, though, he no longer felt like he was in any kind of rush to get answers.

He lingered for a while doing nothing in particular, just soaking in the sleepy contentedness of the shed, straightening some of the papers, and then decided that it was a little creepy that he was just hanging around and climbed the ladder up to the apartment above.

Both the Goldsteins were in the kitchen when he popped up. Tina was at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee, still half-asleep, while her sister spun around with her wand out. Food items flew through the air above her head.

“Oh, hello, Mr. Graves!” she said as he stepped out, turning a beaming smile on him. “I hope you’ll be joining us for breakfast?”

“You don’t have to do that,” Percival said, stepping off of the coffee table.

“Nonsense,” she said, giving her wand a flick. A jug of milk emptied itself into a bowl. “I’m already making more than enough as it is, you’ll be doing us a favor.”

“Well… alright, then,” Percival said, trying to sound reluctant even though he was quite relieved. He hadn’t had dinner the night before, and it was nice to have breakfast sorted.

“Is Newt coming up, or is he locking himself down there?” Tina asked.

“I sent Mr. Scamander to bed,” Percival said, hovering in the living room. The sister was twirling around so rapidly he was afraid to step foot into the kitchen and get in her way. “I’m afraid he was half-delirious with lack of sleep.”

“Oh, that man,” the sister said with a small frown. “Coffee?”

“Please. Thank you, Miss Goldstein.”

“Queenie, please,” she said, waving a wand to send a mug to the kitchen table. “Come have a seat.”

Percival sat down across from Tina, who waved her hand absently to stir more milk into her coffee. He pulled the paper Newt had given him out of his pocket and slid it across the table to her.

“I got this from him,” he said as Tina opened it curiously. “It’s a list of physical attributes the creature likely has. It also seems that he’ll be able to pinpoint places we should be looking, and can tell us how to subdue the creature should we come across it.”

“This is fantastic,” Tina said, reading through the list. She frowned. “Pew pew pew?”

“Like I said, he was a little delirious at that point.”

“I’m glad you all will be able to defend yourselves,” Queenie said, setting a flat pan on the stove. “I don’t like the idea of you running blindly after some killer animal.”

“I assure you, Miss Goldstein--”

“Queenie.”

“Queenie. I assure you that your sister has had the best training possible, and she is quite a competent auror. She’ll be fine.”

Tina blinked at him. “Thank you, Mr. Graves.”

Percival inclined his head. “I don’t compliment you enough, Goldstein.”

The sister, Queenie, was looking at him strangely. He felt something in his mind, something pushing, and he reaffirmed his Occlumency. He sipped his coffee.

“Newt told me that you’re a natural legilimens, Queenie,” he said.

Queenie waved her wand, mixing ingredients in a bowl. “I am,” she said. “I was born with it. I’m terribly sorry if I ever accidentally intrude.”

“Don’t worry about that, I’m quite well versed in Occlumency.”

“I know,” Queenie said. She winced. “Not that I’m trying to get at your thoughts, it’s just-- it’s instinct, and I feel a barrier around your mind, which is so totally fine, and--”

“It’s quite alright,” Percival said with a reassuring smile. “Really. I think it’s fascinating.”

“You do?”

“Can we stop fawning over my sister’s powers? It’s too early for this,” Tina said, rubbing her eyes. Behind her, Queenie scowled and flicked her wrist. A piece of bread whacked Tina in the back of the head.

“Ow! Queenie, stop that!”

“Sorry,” Queenie said, smiling sweetly at Percival.

Tina and Percival spent the next hour swapping the paper back and forth, talking about their plans for the day, what they were going to tell their aurors and what they would keep private, while Queenie cooked up a storm. She spun around them, chopping fruit and pouring batter into the pan where it sizzled and crackled alongside strips of bacon. She hummed as she did so. Despite the early hour, she was wearing a simple day dress and her hair was perfectly curled, lips painted a gentle pink.

Tina was slowly waking up with her third cup of coffee. She squinted down at the list again. “Water,” she said. “There aren’t too many bodies of water in New York. Maybe in Central Park, I suppose, but that’s such a public area I can’t imagine it being used as some kind of lair…”

“I agree.” Percival frowned. “Perhaps there’s some kind of hidden stream somewhere…”

“In the city?” said Tina doubtfully.

“Have you checked the harbor yet?” Queenie asked, flipping a dozen slices of bacon. The sharp sizzle cut through the kitchen. Percival and Tina locked eyes.

“We haven’t,” said Tina.

“We will,” Percival said. “That’s a wonderful idea, Queenie, thank you. When Newt finally gets up we can ask if that’s a possibility.”

There was a scuffle from the living room and they all turned to watch the lid of the case swing open. Newt’s head popped up, hair standing up straight on his head, blinking tiredly at them all.

“Newt,” Queenie said, scowling at him, “go back to bed!”

“The sounds woke me up,” Newt said. He shimmied a bit and the rest of his body appeared, clambering out of the case. His foot caught on the edge and he stumbled, nearly falling off the coffee table. Tina snickered, and Percival tried to hide his own amusement. “Is breakfast ready?”

“Nearly,” Queenie said.

Newt straightened up and rubbed his eyes, looking around. His gaze caught Percival’s and he froze. “Percival,” he said. “How long have you been here?”

“You mean you don’t remember me carrying you to bed an hour ago?” Percival asked.

Newt’s cheeks colored. “I thought that was a dream,” he mumbled, shuffling into the kitchen.

“Dreaming about me, are you?”

Newt tripped over his own feet, stammering something like, “No, of course not, why would you… I don’t…”

Queenie shot Percival a look he couldn’t decipher and flicked her wand to send an empty mug into Newt’s hands.

“I can make a you cup of tea, Newt,” she said.

“Coffee’s fine.”

“Oh, really?” Tina asked, looking up from her own cup. “How the mighty fall!”

“Apparently I’m running on one hour of sleep,” Newt said, pouring himself the last of the pot, “which was more than I expected to get, so, yes, I’m giving in and having some of this god-awful drink.”

“Mr. Graves and I were looking over your list,” Tina said.

Newt frowned and snagged it from the middle of the table as he sat down. “Oh,” he said, reading it over. “Could you understand it?”

“We aren’t imbeciles, Scamander,” Percival said. When Newt just stared at him, he said, “Although we could use some clarification on some of the terminology.”

“A lot of the other stuff I wrote is more helpful,” he said. “I can go grab it. I wanted to talk to you about--”

“Nope,” Queenie said, putting a hand on his shoulder and pushing him back in his seat when he tried to stand. “Breakfast first, then work. You all must be starving.” She waved her wand and sent all the plates to the table, the fruit, bacon, pancakes, bowls of syrup…

Tina moaned and leaned in to spear a pancake with her fork. Percival stared at the piles of food in surprise. It had been a long time since he had sat down to such a meal. To _any_ meal, actually.

“Incredible, Queens,” Tina said, taking a bite of her pancake without bothering with syrup. “God, I’m hungry.”

“This looks wonderful, Miss Goldstein,” Percival said.

“Thank you,” Queenie said, looking pleased with herself. She sat down and delicately transferred a pancake to her plate, then grabbed the bowl of strawberries. “Dig in. And Newt,” she said, taking on a dangerous tone, “ _eat_.”

Newt mumbled something Percival didn’t catch and reached out for the fruit bowl.

They ate in pleasant silence, all of them too distracted with their meals to talk. Percival ate most of the bacon and a hefty plate of pancakes, savoring the slow movements of a sit-down meal. Tina set another pot of coffee on the stove to brew while Newt picked at a plate of fruit, chin rested sleepily on his hand.

“Try a pancake, Newt,” Queenie said, waving her hand at the plate to send it hovering in front of him.

“Thanks, Queenie, but I’m not very--”

The plate nudged his arm. He grudgingly picked one up and dropped it onto his own plate. “Fine.”

Queenie smiled brightly. “So, I was just thinking that we haven’t had the chance to go to the zoo like we had planned.”

“The zoo?” Newt tore off a piece of his pancake. “I’m not sure we have the time. If I could just go and grab my notes--”

“How about tomorrow afternoon? The weather should be nice.”

“Queenie, I really don’t think--”

“Because you haven’t been able to do _anything_ I had planned, Newt, and I was _so_ looking forward to your visit.”

Queenie looked at him, gaze imploring, and Percival could see Newt’s resolve crumbling. He glanced up from his plate briefly, caught Percival’s eye, then dropped it again. “I guess I can go,” he said.

Queenie clapped. “Wonderful!” she said. “You’ll come too, Tina!”

“Excuse me?”

“And you, Mr. Graves.”

Percival looked up from his bacon. “Sorry?” he asked. “Oh, no, I don’t have the time to--”

“It’s a few hours,” Queenie said. “I’m sure you can spare it. So it’s settled then, tomorrow afternoon? Wonderful!” She stood up, taking her empty plate with her. “Oh, Newt! An owl came for you this morning, I totally forgot.” She deposited her plate in the sink and grabbed an envelope off the counter, which she handed over to Newt. He took it and broke the seal immediately, sliding the letter out.

“It’s from Dumbledore,” he said, reading it over. “I sent him an owl last night.”

“When did you have the time for that?” Tina asked.

“There’s a 24-hour owl post over on 22nd street, I went around two this morning,” Newt said. He stood up, eyes scanning the letter. “He says he’ll take a look at some of my notes and give me his input-- fantastic. I’m going to-- thanks for breakfast Queenie, it was really-- grab my notes--”

He hurried off, practically diving back into his case. Percival watched him go with raised eyebrows.

“I’m sorry, did he say that _Dumbledore_ was going to take a look at his notes?” he asked.

“Friends in high places, I suppose,” Tina said, taking a swig of coffee.

The table had been cleared by the time Newt returned holding a pile of papers. He had drawn his blue coat on over his rumpled clothes, but his hair was still a mess. “I’ll go send this,” he said, “and then I’ll come back and walk you through what I found out last night.”

“Allow me to accompany you,” Percival said, standing.

“No, that’s alright, Percival, I’ll be quick. There shouldn’t be a line.” Newt slipped the papers into his pocket, then hurriedly pulled them back out and peeked in. “Sorry, Pickett, didn’t know you were in there.”

A tiny green head poked out of Newt’s pocket and glared up at him, squeaking indignantly.

“You really should brush your hair, Newt,” Queenie said, walking over and reaching up to rake her fingers through his curls. Newt made a face and twisted out of her grip.

“It’s fine, Queenie, it’s just the post,” he said, reaching up to flatten his hair down across his forehead. Percival resisted the urge to speak up and say that he quite liked his hair messy. Instead he took a sip of his now lukewarm coffee and held his tongue. “I’ll be back in a jiff.”

Newt spun on his heel and disappeared with a crack.

Tina drained the last of her coffee, then sighed and stood up. “I’m going to get dressed,” she said. “We’ll need to head in and debrief everyone, and I feel like an absolute mess.”

She passed the sink, where the dishes were washing themselves, and slipped into what Percival guessed was her bedroom. Queenie flicked her wand and let the dishes drop. They settled with a soft clatter in a perfect stack.

“Mr. Graves,” she said. “Newt and Tina have told me so much about you.”

Percival fiddled with his coffee mug. “All good things, I hope,” he said, even though he was certain that they hadn’t been good at all.

“Of course,” Queenie said. She picked up a dishtowel and began languidly cleaning the kitchen table, looking more like a model for towels than someone who had just labored in the kitchen for an hour. “So, you haven’t got a girlfriend that we’re keeping you from, correct?”

Percival held back a laugh. “No,” he said.

“Boyfriend?”

That one got him. He narrowed his eyes at Queenie, who was innocently scrubbing at a spot of syrup on the table. He checked on his mental shields but they were firmly in place.

“No,” he said, slower.

“Alright then,” Queenie said. She flashed a broad smile at him.

Percival folded his hands in front of him. “Miss Goldstein,” he said quietly, “I take pride in my Occlumency skills, but if there’s any way that you are somehow getting any of my stray thoughts, I would thank you to--”

“Oh, I’m not getting anything, Mr. Graves,” Queenie reassured him. “Don’t worry, you’re blank as a wall.”

Percival frowned. “Oh,” he said.

“Why did you think I had gotten anything?” Queenie blinked at him, eyes bright and wide. “I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable.”

“No, I didn’t… it wasn’t…” He could feel his cheeks heating. He reached up and rubbed the back of his neck, uncomfortable. “Nevermind, I was just wondering.”

“Alright,” Queenie said, moving to scrub another spot at the table.

The bedroom door opened again and Tina stepped out dressed in a nice blue pantsuit. She finished buttoning her shirt up and closed the door behind her with her foot. “Newt not back yet?” she asked.

“No,” Queenie said.

Tina glanced at Percival. “Maybe we can just go down and peek at the notes.”

“You two are so impatient,” Queenie said as Percival stood up.

They were spared having to respond by a sharp crack, and Newt was standing in the living room again, looking more windswept than ever. He looked from Percival to Tina. “Well, come on, then.”

“Thank you for breakfast,” Percival said to Queenie as he pushed his chair in and turned to hurry after the other two to the case.

“You’re welcome!”

Newt was already talking by the time Percival hopped down from the ladder.

“The creature has major influence from scordieces, like I suspected. That means we’re going to be dealing with things like an exoskeleton, pincers, a stinger. In addition, it’s most likely sedentary, which means it will rely on one location to keep its prey in. This location will probably be near a body of water.”

“Like the harbor?” Tina asked, dropping into a seat at the table and picking up one of the papers.

“Exactly. Check underneath all the docks. That would be a perfect place. The other strongest contender would be the sewage system.”

“The sewers?” Percival asked, watching Newt flutter around the room, blue coat flying behind him.

“Yes,” Newt said, stopping at a bookcase. He looked over the titles, chewing on his bottom lip. “The creature’s nocturnal, so the darkness and quiet would be well suited to its preferences, and it would also explain how it can navigate the city so well… speaking of navigation…” He crouched down and plucked a book off the shelf, flipping quickly through the pages. “Aha. Here, read this.” He stood, crossed the room, and shoved it into Percival’s hands. Percival looked at it. It was an old, yellowing book written in old English. At the top of a page was a sketch of what looked like a dog, with several paragraphs following the title “Hidebehind.”

“I’m guessing it can assume a gaseous state, and I’m guessing that it navigates via water. That means that anywhere there’s water, the creature can get to.” Newt moved to another bookcase and parsed through it, pulling out another book. “It’s attracted to negative emotions because that customarily means weaker prey, and it’s a partial magical arachnid, so it will target magic users whenever it gets a chance.”

“This is… a lot,” Tina said, shaking her head at all the notes.

“I know.” Newt opened the book and frowned down at it. “Whoever was doing this breeding… I’ve never seen it go so far. They went completely off the books, but they knew exactly what they were doing.”

Percival closed the book. “It’s like they were breeding some kind of…”

“Super animal,” Newt said, meeting his eye from across the room. He was frowning. “That’s exactly what they were doing. And look, here.” He shoved the book back on the shelf and hurried to the table, rifling through the papers. “They kept talking about trying to control it. They performed all these experiments, tests, to see whether it was tamed or not. There were varying degrees of success, but the last one I found… look.” Newt picked up a piece of paper that was torn at the top, and read from it. “‘July 3rd. Tested commands again. The creature responded to attack orders, but did not heel when I requested. Problems getting it back into its cage, nearly got scorched. Will try again tomorrow.’” He lowered the paper. “That was the most recent note.”

“There’s nothing after that?”

“No,” Newt said, “which leads me to believe that something went terribly wrong with that next test.”

“July 3rd,” Tina said. “Just a week after that is when the first attack was recorded.”

“It fits the timeline perfectly,” Newt agreed. He looked down at the paper again, perplexed. “What I don’t understand is _why_. I don’t get the endgame, the purpose of all these tests…”

“Some people are just crazy,” Percival said. “We don’t have time to think about that right now. We need to get to MACUSA and create two groups.” He shifted his weight from one foot to the other and back again, anxious to go. Adrenaline was pumping through him. They _finally_ had something. “One will canvas the sewers, the other will search the harbors. Newt, any ideas about how the thing is holding hostages?”

“Probably a mild sedative,” Newt said, “that the creature continuously distributes. If you can get to them and get them off of it, they should be fine.”

“We don’t have any time to waste, then,” Percival said. He took a deep breath, preparing himself for the day ahead. “Let’s go.”

XXXXX

“None of these features are definite, Madame, I’ve, uh, contacted some professionals and they’re going to cross-reference--”

“How sure are you of your conclusions, Mr. Scamander?”

Newt hesitated. Percival, standing at attention right next to him, stared at the portrait hanging above Picquery's head. The firm interpretation of her did little to assuage his discomfort. They just needed to get her approval. “Ninety-five percent, Madame President.”

“I’ll take it,” Picquery said. She turned away from the window and glared at Percival, who dropped his gaze from the picture. “Graves, you have my permission to assemble search teams. Make sure to warn your people about the possibility of targeting based on negative emotions, make sure anyone who’s recently suffered trauma is not spearheading the mission. Get out there and finish that creature off. I want it killed.”

Newt stiffened. He started to speak, but Percival snaked his arm around and discretely pressed a hand to the small of his back. Newt inhaled sharply and shut his mouth again, and Percival breathed a mental sigh of relief. Now was not the time to annoy the president.

“Thank you, Madame President,” Percival said smoothly. He inclined his head, dropped his hand, and turned to exit with Tina.

“Mr. Scamander.”

Percival glanced over his shoulder to see Picquery staring at Newt, expression sharp and appraising. Newt turned around again, crossed his arms behind his back, and stared back.

“Excellent work," she said. Her earrings glimmered in the lamplight.

Newt raised his chin, maintaining the eye contact, and Percival couldn’t help but be impressed. Newt had much more spine than Percival had originally thought.

“Thank you, Madame,” he said stiffly. Then he turned on his heel, coat flapping, and strode past Percival out the door.

“Goldstein, go and get Bentridge for me, I’m going to need her help,” Percival said, stepping out into the hallway and shutting the door behind him.

“Yes, sir,” Tina said with a small salute. She turned and sprinted off down the hall in the direction of the law enforcement department.

“Mr. Scamander,” Percival said. Newt’s gaze, which had wandered down the hall where a couple of goblins were walking together, snapped up to meet his. Percival tried to smile, tried to make himself appear pleasant. “You did well.”

“I thought we were on a first name basis,” Newt said, lips quirking upward, eyes dropping to fix on Percival’s shoulder, and Percival felt a pang of disappointment that he was still this uncomfortable around him.

“Newt,” Percival corrected. He straightened up, preparing himself for the speeches ahead. “Well, are you ready to go finish this thing?”

Newt hesitated, eyebrows contracting just once before his expression smoothed out again. He smiled, but it came out more of a grimace. “Let’s go.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyyyyyy guys.
> 
> I know, I know, I've been away a while, and I apologize. Life got in the way!! I'm really sorry it's been so long but I have a few updates!  
> 1\. I got a job! I'm a cashier at this neat little healthy restaurant, and I'm super pumped for it. I'm ready to make some $$  
> 2\. I'm now an editor on my school's literary magazine!  
> 3\. I'll be helping teach a creative writing class over the summer! It's a volunteer thing but I'm also super pumped for that.
> 
> And because it's going to be summer in exactly 3 days I'll have way more time to write, so trust me, I'll get back on a regular schedule and finish this story up (yes, it will be coming to an end pretty soon). There's still quite a few chapters to squeeze out though, and I'm really excited for you all to read them!
> 
> Thanks so much for sticking with this story and for the continued support. If you haven't already, leave a kudos and drop a comment below letting me know what you think! I appreciate all of you; thanks for hanging around! I hope you all have a lovely night/day/morning/evening/life! <3


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The waves lapped up the shore, stopping just short of their feet. Newt met Graves’s gaze head-on, unsure of what to say because he knew he would never follow those orders.
> 
> Graves’s face hardened. “I said, do I make myself clear?”
> 
> “Yes, sir,” Newt said, lying through his teeth.

**Newt**

_Basium_

“Queenie, I really don’t think he’s going to make it,” Tina said. “Yesterday the department got hit with a wave of No-Maj hit and runs. We had to spend the entire night getting rid of extra appendages, and then we had to obliviate them--”

“I’m sure Mr. Graves is a man of his word,” Queenie said, smoothing down the front of her dress. The wind picked up from the other side of the square, ruffling her curls peeking out from underneath her hat. The overcast weather had cleared most of the other visitors for the day; the zoo looked relatively empty. “Newt, what time is it?”

Newt didn’t have to check his pocket watch, because he had just put it away seconds ago. “2:58.”

“It’s not even three yet,” Queenie said, casting a glance at her sister. Tina rolled her eyes.

“There are investigations going on  _ right now _ that could very well end this whole case. I would have thought you’d be happy about that.”

“I am, but that doesn’t mean you all can’t have a bit of a break. I thought that Newt would enjoy this.”

“Did you ever ask Newt about it?”

“Of course I did! Right, Newt?”

Newt squirmed as both sisters rounded on him. “Um,” he said. “I’m, uh, perfectly fine with--”

“Sorry I’m late.” 

Newt’s heart jumped. He turned to see Graves striding towards them, still dressed for work in a fitted black overcoat and a hat slung low across his face. He glanced at Newt once, briefly, then smile-grimaced at Queenie.

“Not at all! You’re right on time.” Queenie beamed, some of it directed at Graves and some smugly at her sister. Tina scowled.

“I’m sorry if we’re keeping you from anything, sir,” she said.

“Not at all,” Graves said. “We’ve all been working through the night, it’s nice to have something of a break. I can only stay for an hour or so, though. I sent a few search teams to the harbor and I need to debrief them this evening.”

“Of course, Mr. Graves,” Queenie said, coming forward and taking his arm. Newt and Tina exchanged a glance but Graves didn’t object as Queenie pulled him towards the till. “We’ll get you back in plenty of time.”

To Newt’s embarrassment, Graves offered to pay for their admission. Newt managed to stutter out a few protests, but Graves just cocked an eyebrow and handed him a ticket. Newt was grateful for it; he had forgotten all of his muggle money in his case.

“I think we should see the otters,” Queenie declared as they stepped through the gates. Tina had picked up several maps and was parsing through them, brow furrowed. Newt tucked his hands into the pockets of his coat. “Thoughts?”

“The otters are right next to the seals,” Tina said. “If we start there and loop our way around the perimeter we’ll be able to hit most of the exhibits in… twenty minutes, maybe?”

“Great,” Queenie said. “Any other thoughts?”

“That sounds fine,” Graves said.

“I like otters,” Newt said.

“Fantastic,” said Queenie. “Tina, can I see the map?”

The sisters set off ahead, bickering about directions, leaving Newt and Graves to trail behind them. Newt shot Queenie a look, wondering… and a moment later Queenie glanced back at him and winked. 

For Merlin’s sake. 

“I really am sorry you were dragged into this,” Newt said quietly after a few moments.

“Nonsense, I meant what I said.” Graves tilted his head up to catch the few rays of sun that were peeking through the clouds overhead. They passed a cage full of parrots that squawked at them, voices sharp. “Although I’m afraid I’m much too exhausted to offer any comprehensive thoughts on the exhibits.”

“I’m sure that’s not true,” Newt murmured. He tugged on the sleeve of his coat. “Tina told me-- us-- what happened last night.”

“Utter chaos.” Graves’s lips twitched downwards. “People seem to think it’s funny to curse No-Majs and leave the magical law enforcement behind to do the clean-up. It was probably just some kids, but when I find them…”

“We have that same problem in England with cursed objects,” Newt said. “Wizards seem to think it’s funny to mess with Muggles. It infuriated my brother.”

“Well, it’s loads of paperwork.” Graves flicked the brim of his hat upwards and glared at the parrots, which were still screeching. “Too much work for such a juvenile action, and when we do catch the perpetrators they get off with nothing but a slap on the wrist because of some outdated laws. If you ask me, it should be treated the same as an assault on a magical person. Just because it’s a No-Maj doesn’t mean no harm has been done just because they’ve been Obliviated, and-- I’m sorry.” He stopped, glancing at Newt. “I’m boring you.”

“No,” Newt said, quickly, blinking himself out of his reverie. “No, not at all. I quite agree with you.” 

“Really?”

“Yes. It’s, uh, really interesting.”

“Oh,” Graves said. A child ran past them, shrieking something about monkeys. 

“Yes,” Newt said, “I’ve always thought that America’s laws about Muggles-- er, No-Majs-- are outdated in general.”

“That’s right,” Graves said. “In England you allow marriage between magical and non-magical people, correct?”

“We do, yes.”

“Don’t you feel that that puts our world in danger, though?”

“On the contrary,” Newt said, “I think it opens us up to a wider world, and that in itself promotes progress. Integrating Muggles into our world is the only way to ensure that we remain connected to the world at large and don’t lose touch with it.”

“And if a No-Maj finds out about magic and decides to go public with it?”

Newt shrugged. “It hasn’t happened yet. Besides, who would believe them?”

Graves looked amused. “You’re willing to base a lot on an assumption, Newt.” 

“I find that the most astute observation comes from assumptions.”

They met up with the girls at the otter tank, where they spent a few minutes watching Queenie coo over them. Tina was leaning against the glass, scanning the empty park around them as though for potential threats, although when Newt asked if something was wrong she said “I’m looking for a popcorn cart. I’m starving.”

“I expected you to be more excited by the animals,” Graves said as they followed Queenie and Tina to the sea lions exhibit.

“To be quite honest, I’m not the biggest fan of the concepts of zoos,” Newt said, looking quickly at Queenie to make sure there was enough distance between them. “I didn’t know how to break it to Queenie, though. She was so excited.”

“Really? Isn’t it sort of what you do?”

“Not at all,” Newt said, affronted. “I release my animals back into the wild as soon as they can survive on their own. The only ones I keep are for their own protection or because they have clearly expressed that they prefer to stay with me. These Muggle zoos… the animals stay here their entire lives. Most of them are born into captivity and they die in it as well. I mean, look at them.” He moved to the nearest railing and peered in at the ditch, where a couple of tortoises were trying in vain to soak up a few sunrays. “It’s sad.”

“Well,” Graves said. “You’ve just made this visit a hell of a lot more depressing.”

Newt’s stomach twisted. He bit down on his lower lip. “I’m sorry,” he said, “I shouldn’t have--”

“No, no,” Graves said, laughing, and to Newt’s relief he didn’t look at all annoyed. “I love hearing your opinions. They’re fascinating.”

Newt flushed and turned away. 

“If you aren’t particularly interested in seeing anymore animals,” Graves said, oblivious to Newt’s embarrassment, “I might have an idea as to how we could better use our time.”

Newt’s cheeks got even hotter. “Oh?” he said, his voice cracking.

“One second.” Graves quickened his pace to catch up to Tina and Queenie, who were forging ahead relentlessly. “Mr. Scamander offered to show me the reptile exhibit,” he said as Newt jogged after him, trying to catch up. “You two continue on to the sea lions, and how about we meet at the entrance in an hour?”

“Oh,” Queenie said, throwing a look at Newt, who tried his best to look like he wasn’t blushing like a tomato. “That sounds like a wonderful plan, Mr. Graves. Come on, Tina, let’s go see the lions.”

Tina protested as Queenie dragged her off. Graves straightened his coat, turned on his heel, and said briskly, “Come on, then.”

“Mr. Graves,” Newt said, trying to make it look like he wasn’t panting as they wound back through the exhibits. The parents started screeching again as they rounded into view, and Graves tossed a scowl at them. “Uh, Percival-- where are we going?”

“It’s just up here.”

They came to small, unimportant looking building behind the dove cage. While the birds fluttered and cooed at them, Graves stepped up to the door, glanced around to make sure they were alone, then flicked his wrist. The lock clicked open and the door swung inwards.

“This feels illegal,” Newt noted as Graves stepped in the door.

Graves glanced over his shoulder at him with a mischievous grin. “Only if we get caught. Come on.”

Newt swallowed, glanced once more behind at the doves, who seemed like they were calling out a gentle warning, and then followed Graves in, shutting the door behind him.

It was dark in the building, but a moment later the lights flickered on overhead, revealing a collection of the oddest things Newt had ever seen.

“What in Merlin’s beard…” He stepped in, cautiously, and leaned down to pick up a foam bowling pin. He turned it over in his heads and then looked up in confusion at Graves, who was watching him. “What is all this?”

“It’s the props building,” Graves said. “For all the animal shows and the holiday parades. We had a situation here years ago-- someone was making all the monkeys fly every Sunday like clockwork-- so I was posted as a lookout. It was before I was head of the department. I stumbled across this place, and… I don’t know, I thought it was interesting.” 

Newt set the bowling pin down and peered into a plastic box full of shiny stuff. He stuck his hand in and ran his fingers through gold tulle. 

“We can go back and look at the animals now,” Graves was saying behind him as Newt dug through to the bottom of the box. “I just thought, you said the animals were depressing, and I knew this was here if you wanted to--” He stopped when Newt popped his head back up clad in a ridiculous neon-green headband he had found in the container. Plastic pom-poms stuck out of the side like ears.

“Does this match my coat?” he asked, looking down at it appraisingly.

Graves gave a startled laugh. “It’s a look,” he agreed.

“What did they even use this for?” Newt pulled the headband off and looked at it. “Some kind of costume?”

“I think it’s from the Christmas parade.”

“Do you watch Muggle parades, Percival?”

Graves frowned. “I only saw it last year because there were rumors that there was going to be an attack there.”

“But you remembered the costumes.” Newt put the headband back on and smiled when Graves glowered at him. “Come on, let’s find you something.”

They split up to opposite sides of the room, which stretched out on either side of them like a huge storage closet. There were mounds of animal-related props: plastic balls festooned with stars, flags picturing cartoon caricatures of monkeys, and Graves even found a full body polar bear suit tucked into the corner (which he refused to put on even when begged). They assembled all of their treasures in the center of the room and sat down to go through them, debating the usage of each one.

“It’s obviously for one of the parades,” Graves said when Newt held up a stick with plastic green hands attached to the end. When he shook them they clapped together, producing a sharp sound.

“I think it’s for the sea lion show,” said Newt.

“How on earth is a sea lion supposed to use that?”

“If they stick it in their mouth--” Newt took the stick between his teeth and flicked his head up and down, creating sporadic clapping noises.

“Alright,” Graves said. “Then by that merit, the thing you currently have in your mouth has also been in the mouth of a sea lion.”

Newt spit it out as Graves laughed loudly. 

Later: “There is no way anyone could wear this as a sock,” Newt protested as Graves held up the foot-long tube of material. “Besides, there’s only one.”

“What is it then? A hat?” 

“It’s obviously a hat for monkey’s tails.”

He ducked as Graves threw it at him, laughing. They were surrounded by the wreckage of their search, piles of discarded party supplies and costume props. Newt was just reaching for a pom pom when the creaking of a turning doorknob echoed through the space.

Graves and Newt shared one look before Graves hissed “Nox” and grabbed Newt’s arm to pull him behind a cardboard box. They crawled to safety in the dark just as the door opened and afternoon light streamed into the room.

They pressed themselves against the box. Newt’s heart was jumping. He shifted to peek around the box and saw that the intruder was a Muggle security officer shining a flashlight in with a confused frown. Newt swallowed back an absurd giggle at the prospect of being caught, as a grown man, raiding a zoo’s costume bin.

Graves clamped a hand over his mouth and dragged him back behind the box just as the flashlight beam swept over them. Newt stifled laughter against Graves’s grip, and after a moment the door creaked shut again and they were left in darkness once more.

Graves dropped his hand and whispered “Lumos,” conjuring a ball of light to hover between them and illuminate his glare. Newt dissolved into laughter, leaning back against the cardboard for support.

“You almost gave us away,” Graves complained.

“Can you imagine what he was thinking? He was probably thinking some kids got in here and were messing around, not two fully grown men.”

“Remind me to never take you on a recon mission  _ ever _ ,” Graves said, but a small smile was crawling onto his face. “Will you  _ stop laughing _ , he’s going to hear you and come back!”

“I’m sorry!” Newt clutched his sides and took a deep breath, calming himself. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’ll stop.”

He grinned and glanced at Graves, but the smile petered off when he realized how close they were. Pressed side by side against the box, separated by nothing but a small orb of light, legs tangled together…

Graves cleared his throat. “It’s been about an hour,” he said. “We should probably go and meet the Goldsteins.” 

He stood up and the orb followed him. Newt clambered to his feet as well.

“Alright,” he said, quietly, trying to calm his own racing pulse.

XXXXX

“Oh, Queenie, we haven’t the time,” Tina sighed, re-knotting her coat around her waist as the wind skipped across the sidewalk.

“Nonsense! Mr. Graves, Newt? Are you two up for ice cream?”

“It’s like fifty degrees,” Tina muttered. Queenie glared at her. 

“Thank you very much for the invitation, Miss Goldstein, but I’m afraid I--”

Both Tina and Mr. Graves stiffened. Then, in one fluid movement, they both pulled their wands out of their pockets. The tips of both were emitting a pulsating white glow.

“Emergency,” Tina said at the same time Graves said “We have to go.”

“What is it?” Queenie asked.

“MACUSA needs us. Sorry, sis, no ice cream today.” Tina shoved her wand back in her pocket and turned to Graves. “Apparition, sir?”

“Do you think it’s the creature?” Newt asked, nervous.

“Most likely,” Graves murmured. “Yes, Goldstein, Apparition. We should head straight to the office and--”

“I’m coming with you,” Newt said.

“No you aren’t!” Tina said as Graves frowned at him.

“If it's the creature you’re going to need me.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Mr. Graves, tell him that--”

“Alright,” Graves said, “but you stay behind me at  _ all times _ , do I make myself clear?”

Newt nodded as Queenie straightened up in outrage.

“I’m coming as well,” she said. “I’m a Legilimens and I work for MACUSA and--”

“No, Queenie.” Tina’s voice was flat.

“Why not? You get to rush off into danger all the time, so why can’t I--”

“Because I said so!” Queenie blinked in surprise as Tina took a deep breath and pinched the bridge of her nose. “Please, Queenie, just… don’t do this. I need you to be safe, I need to be certain that you aren’t in danger, I need…”

Queenie reached out to touch her sister’s wrist. Tina lifted her head. Queenie smiled. “Alright,” she said softly. “Go do your job.”

Tina looked grateful. Newt started when Graves grabbed his arm, pulling him closer, and muttered, “Hang on,” and a moment later they were twisting on the spot and they were gone. 

Newt was briefly aware of a building, people swarming around them, knocking into his elbow, and then a doorman approaching and saying “Harbor” and Graves pulled him back into the shadows and they Apparated again, away from MACUSA.

They landed in wet mud. Graves released Newt and pulled his wand out, looking all around them with narrowed eyes. Tina made a small noise as her shoes squelched beneath her. 

“Where are they?” she asked, wand at the ready. 

They were on the shore, where the pungent dark water met mud and dirt and layers of fine rock. Above them stretched the alternating wood and cement of the docks, branching off into piers that met boats. The overcast sky was milky soup above them, and behind them stretched a wall of rocks worn from being beaten by the high tide.

Graves stared down across the beach, waiting. A moment later a pulse of red light shot up, distant, and he said, “There,” and they took off running.

Newt lagged behind, slipping and sliding in the mud with every step he took, struggling to stay upright. His coat flapped behind him, sea salt spray danced across his cheeks. He had his wand out but his palms were sweating so badly he was afraid it would fly out of his hands and disappear into the surf.

There was a group of aurors waiting for them, all pressed up against the rocks. Newt recognized Bentridge and Eisenhower and a few others he didn’t know by name, all of them grim and alert.

“Brief me,” Graves said, keeping close to the rock wall.

“We got a tip about a disturbance underneath loading dock 7,” Bentridge said. She had tied her curly hair out of her face the best she could. “Evidence of spellwork, voices, sounds.”

“Sounds?” Tina asked.

“Animal noises,” Eisenhower said. “You know, growling and stuff. We think this is it.”

“Alright,” Graves said. “Bentridge, I need you to take Stevens and Orullian and Apparate to the other flank. Approach from that direction. Everyone else, stay with me, assume attack formation. Newt,” he said, shifting his gaze, “stay close to me and  _ behind  _ me. We may need your advice, but under no circumstances are you allowed to enter the fray. If I am taken down or in any way incapacitated, or if things look to be going badly, you Apparate out of here immediately. Do I make myself clear?”

The waves lapped up the shore, stopping just short of their feet. Newt met Graves’s gaze head-on, unsure of what to say because he knew he would never follow those orders.

Graves’s face hardened. “I said,  _ do I make myself clear _ ?”

“Yes,  _ sir _ ,” Newt said, lying through his teeth.

Graves looked at him for a minute more before turning away. “Go, Bentridge,” he said. “Give it thirty seconds before approaching.”

Bentridge saluted and Apparated away with her team. 

“Goldstein, take the right flank. I’ll be on the left.” They shifted, Graves stepping towards the water, and everyone fell into position behind them. Newt scurried to stand behind Graves. His heart was pounding, as were his thoughts; he ran desperately through what he could remember of his notes, struggling to think of something that would help them. He might know a way to stun around an exoskeleton, but he wouldn’t be able to convey it in a timely manner. He should have told all of them this earlier…

“Go,” Graves said, and they started forward, stealthy and moving as one. 

Footsteps pounded on the docks overhead. Men shouted to each other about loading, machinery whirled. They approached a long cement pier that trailed out into the water, connecting at the end with a massive cargo ship painted red and black. The shore beneath the pier was dark.

“Steady,” Graves said, quiet. Their pace slowed so they were treading lightly, and Newt took extra care not to slip or be noisy. He was panting now, trying to control his quick breathing. Graves glanced over his shoulder at him, just for a second, and Newt thought there was something comforting there.

They drew to a stop just before the pier. Graves raised his wand and stepped into the shadows. “Lumos,” he said, and light filled the space, illuminating a woman so beautiful that Eisenhower gasped and dropped his wand standing just feet in front of him. She smiled, blond hair waltzing in the wind, canines flashing in the glow of the light.

“Hello, Mr. Graves. How lovely of you to see us off,” she said, and the shadows burst to life.

Newt stumbled backward as spells were launched at them. The aurors started shouting, throwing up shields that the spells ricocheted off of. Newt looked around for Tina but she had already sprinted off  into the fray.

“Protego!” Newt gasped and whirled around to see a shield bloom in front of him, blocking a stunning spell that burst like fireworks. 

“NEWT!” Graves shouted, looking angry. “Get out of here!” 

Newt debated it-- he wasn’t sure he could be of any help here, and he could go and get more help at MACUSA-- but then a familiar laugh drew his attention away again.

“That’s right, Scamander,” Bianchi said, grinning at him out of the shadows behind Graves. And behind him: a massive cage filled with cornish pixies, all buzzing angrily and pulling against the bars. “Listen to your boyfriend.”

Newt pointed his wand, glaring. “He’s not my boyfriend,” he said. “STUPEFY!”

“Newt! For God’s sake!” Graves yelled as Newt charged past him towards the fleeing Bianchi. 

Mud slid under his feet as Newt came to a stop at the cage. Bianchi had run, laughing over his shoulder, and Newt fully intended to chase him-- after he helped the pixies.

“Calm down,” he muttered, grasping one of the bars and giving an experimental tug. One of the pixies nipped at his fingers and he yelped and pulled back. “Hey!” he said. “I’m trying to help you.”

He heard a noise behind him and turned instinctively to throw up a shield. A hex bounced off of it and he fired another  _ stupefy _ after the perpetrator.

He whirled back around to the cage, finding the door. “Don’t attack the aurors,” he said earnestly. “They’re trying to help you, I promise.  _ Alohomora _ .” The cage sprung open and the pixies streamed out, making Newt stumble backwards away from the flow.

Now there was a new element to the chaos. The pixies, all screeching at the top of their lungs, descended upon the fray. They launched themselves at the enemy, yanking on hair, scratching at exposed skin, biting the tips of noses. The aurors took steps back, stunned as the pixies set out to take their revenge. One by one the smugglers began Apparating or allowed the aurors to take them into their protection at the cost of their freedom. 

“You,” snarled a voice behind Newt. He turned to see Sarreia approaching, red silk dress whipping behind her in the wind. Her face was twisted into something horrific, her hands clenched like claws. Newt scrabbled for his wand and fired off a hasty jinx, but she just waved her hand and deflected it.

“I am getting sick and tired of letting you mess up  _ my  _ plans.” She thrust her hand out and Newt’s chest clenched against an invisible impact, knocking the wind out of him. He fell backwards, struggling to breathe, wand falling. He reached out for it but another invisible weight forced his hand down, pressing it into the mud. 

“I should have finished you off in Croatia,” she said, slashing her hand through the air, and a sharp pain sprang up across his abdomen. He gasped, struggling to get up, but her eyes were flashing dangerously and power radiated off of her.

“Sarreia,” he managed to get out, trying to suck air into his lungs. “What are you--”

“We were  _ trying  _ to leave. Trying to get out of this damn country before we were attacked like everyone  _ else  _ around here. But of course MACUSA managed to fuck up and get in our way, so we decided to take some aurors out with us.”

A pixie buzzed around her head, trying to reach for her hair. She raised a hand and the pixie froze, then dropped, lifeless, to the ground. Newt watched it, chest heaving, something warm and dark pooling across his stomach. 

“I’ll tell you what’s going to happen now,” Sarreia said, crouching down beside him. Her heels were coated in mud, her dress dragged in the water, and there was something crazed about her that made Newt very, very afraid. “I am going to kill you. I am going to kill dear Mr. Graves. I am going to kill every last one of your aurors, and then I am going to take my men and my creatures and leave this country. Does that sound nice?” She reached out and took his face in her hand, digging sharp nails into his cheeks. He stared at her, unable to draw enough air in to speak, unable to lift his hands to fight back. Spots danced across his vision.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” she said, releasing his face. She raised her hand over him, a twisted smile scratched across her face, and Newt braced himself, his vision going dark as the pressure on his chest increased.

Someone shouted and Sarreia’s eyes widened briefly before she was thrown from him. As her magic was wrenched off of him Newt sat up, gasping for air, scrambling in the mud for his wand. By the time he had it and turned to look, Sarreia was nothing but a motionless lump fifteen feet away, curled in the low tide like a sleeping cat. 

“Newt.” Someone grabbed his shoulder and spun him around and Graves was there, face open and panicked. He had lost his hat, and there was a smear of blood across his cheek. “Newt, are you alright?”

Newt’s chest was still too tight to talk, so he just nodded. Graves searched his face, then dropped his gaze. He sucked in his breath.

“Shit,” he said, reaching out to move Newt’s coat. Newt looked down to see that his shirt was drenched with blood. Funny, he could hardly feel it. “Shit, shit, shit,” Graves said, pulling out his wand, pointing it. A spell shot over their heads, so close it ruffled Graves’s hair, and he looked around wildly. “Shit,” he said one more time, and then grabbed Newt’s shoulder and twisted.

The press of Apparition made Newt’s stomach twist, and he squeezed his eyes shut. When he opened them again there was wood underneath him and Graves’s face was in his, frantic and worried.

“What--”

“What spell did she use? Shit, I don’t know if I can…” Graves had lifted his shirt and was staring at the cut across his stomach. Newt looked around, trying to get his bearings. They were tucked behind some cargo crates on what seemed to be an empty part of the docks. There were scratches all down Graves’s neck, probably the work of some rogue pixies, and Newt felt bad.

“Percival,” he said, reaching out and grabbing Graves’s wrist. Graves looked up at him, eyes wide. Newt tried to smile. “I think it’s fine,” he said. “It’s just a scratch.”

“Are you sure?”

Newt shifted, sitting up, pressing his back against the metal container. He peered down at his stomach and pulled out his wand, wincing when the wound tugged. He murmured a few words over it.

“There,” he said. “The bleeding’s stopped. I can heal it completely when I get home. I’m fine, really.”

Graves sat back on his heels, breathing. He licked his lips and looked out across the empty docks. It had started misting, spritzing water on them from overhead. Distantly, the waves crashed.

“It was a trap,” he said.

“They were trying to get the animals out of the country,” Newt said. 

“I should have seen it coming.”

“It’s not your fault.” Graves continued to look out at the docks. Newt leaned forward, ignoring the pain, and touched Graves’s arm. “Hey. It’s not your fault.”

“I saw you lying there, and I saw that woman, and I--” Graves swallowed and turned back to Newt, brow furrowed. “I thought the worst.”

Newt tried to smile, even though his chest hurt and they were pressed so close together that Graves’s hand was dangerously close to resting on Newt’s thigh. “But I’m fine,” he said. “And it’s not your fault.”

Graves looked miserable. His eyes roved across Newt’s face, meeting his eyes, dropping to his lips. Newt took a shallow, shaky breath. 

“Percival,” he said quietly.

Graves murmured something-- something that might have been “Screw it”-- then leaned forward and pressed his lips to Newt’s.

Newt froze, his eyes wide open, staring at Graves’s closed ones, at his face as he brushed his fingers against Newt’s cheek. Graves’s lips were chapped and tasted faintly metallic, of blood, and heat was blooming in Newt’s body from head to toe but he was too startled to do anything but sit there and let Graves kiss him and wish that he could kiss him back but he was too stunned and--

Graves pulled back abruptly, dropping his hand. He turned away. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I-- shit, I’m sorry.”

Newt started shaking his head, but although he wanted to reassure Graves that it was fine and ask him to kiss him again, no words came out.

“Can you get home on your own?” Graves was standing. He still hadn’t looked at Newt. “Go… rest. Later… just go. I need to go-- shouldn’t have left-- they need me--” He took a step away, out on the docks, staring at his feet. “I’m so sorry,” he said, and he Apparated away.

Alone, Newt took a deep breath, trying to stabilize himself. He felt lightheaded, but he wasn’t quite sure what from.

“It’s okay,” he finally said. It had begun to drizzle. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *takes a look at the kudos count* *dies* Thank you all so much for your support!! Hope you enjoyed! 
> 
> Thanks bunches for all the well-wishes. I literally have the best readers and I'm so thankful for each and every one of you <3 And good news! I finally got a tumblr! ((Yeah I know I'm very late to the game but I haven't gotten around to it yet and my friend finally forced me to make one)) I'd be super grateful if you headed over and followed me at wannahearaboutmycats.tumblr.com ; please send me a message so we can chat!! I'm planning on making a Harry Potter themed tumblr once I actually figure out how to use it, but for now you can find me at my personal.
> 
> Thank you all for reading. I hope you're having a wonderful breakfast/brunch/lunch/dinner/dessert/midnight snack time!! Have an amazing day :)


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